The Lone Ranger
by Closet Scrawler
Summary: Rising from the ashes of death like the phoenix of old, this is the legend of a man who was neither a ranger nor traveled alone. (In commemoration of the show's 65th anniversary.) -Not Slash-
1. Chapter 1

___This scrawling stands on its own - you need not have seen the original show._

* * *

_*~* IN __LOVING MEMORY *~*_

**THE LONE RANGER**

**1949-1958**

Jay Silverheels (Tonto) 1912-1980

Clayton Moore (The Lone Ranger Season 1,2,4,5, Movies) 1914-1999

John Hart (The Lone Ranger Season 3) 1917-2009

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

In the 44th episode of season 3, the current year is given as 1875. The last three surviving members of the Cavendish gang are released from prison – fifteen years after their capture. From this canon statement, it can be extrapolated that the pilot episode takes place around 1860.

To give the reader an idea of the setting...

The Trail of Tears (over 4,000 deaths in a forced march to relocate the native peoples east of the Mississippi River to the western reservations) happened in 1838. Tonto would have been roughly 10 years old. Slavery was a highly controversial but common practice until after the Civil War, which would not begin until 1861. The first official American Police force was established in Boston in 1838, but most big cities had not done so until the mid-1850's. Corruption was extremely common within their ranks by the time the Ranger would have been acquiring his clearly eastern education. Very few educated, experienced, and honest doctors, sheriffs, lawyers, and judges were willing to live in this environment. It was dangerous, and not profitable. These things are an inescapable matter of American history, and almost certainly would have shaped the characters of this legend.

This is the world the heroes of our story lived in.

On a personal note, I enjoyed the 2013 rendition of this legend for what it was. But it wasn't my Lone Ranger. When I came looking for Rangerfic afterward, I did not expect to find such a tiny fandom. Fanfic for the original show did not even exist on this site (or much anywhere else for that matter) until after the Disney version. This old show needs some love!

To that end, I am starting off with the origin story. I have taken a few small liberties, but overall I have worked hard to keep to the script. Instead of simply transcribing the episodes as aired, however, this tale is told exclusively from one character's point of view with a lot of added 'missing scenes'. I do not consider the radio show to be Ranger canon for the TV series, but I have pulled a fair amount of lore from it for this scrawling. Not once in all the 2,956 radio episodes (spanning 21 years), 221 television episodes, nor in the two movies, was the Ranger's first name ever given. In fact, one of the main points of the show was that we did not know his name. For that matter, one of the main points is that we know almost nothing about either of them. It was not the men that mattered, but their deeds.

The former I chose to honor... the latter, however, is the one thing I set out to change.

_******DISCLAIMER:** I do not own any part of the Lone Ranger – we all do. The first 16 episodes belong to the public domain. To the best of my knowledge, the portions of the original televised script that I have used for this scrawling fall within the guidelines of this site and the law._

* * *

**The Lone Ranger**

_"I believe..._

_That to have a friend, a man must be one."_

The moon had gone through its cycle many times since the last rain fell. A cloud of dust hovered around the feet of the white and brown painted horse as he walked, his hooves sinking a bit into the dry sand and gravel with each step. The rider wore his long black hair tucked into a bundle at the nape of his neck, and a plain leather band about his forehead to catch sweat. His dark, sun-browned skin and high cheekbones distinguished his heritage, as did his clothing; tunic and pants made of light, soft buckskin with fringed strips of leather along the arms, legs, and across his chest to wick away rain. He was slender and fit, perhaps in his thirties, and moved with the quiet assurance that only experience can grant.

A second glance, however, and one might notice that the collar of the tunic was in the pointed style of the white man, and there were no details or adornments that might indicate his tribe. He wore a sturdy belt about his waist, with a gun holster on his right side and a sheathed Bowie knife at his left. The stallion was saddled, with a full complement of saddlebags for supplies, and left clear horseshoe tracks in their wake. This was not a man who had simply strayed from the lands reserved for his people.

Tonto drew his sleeve across his forehead to wipe away the sweat before reaching for his canteen, and Scout ambled to a stop at a slight pressure of the rider's leg against his flanks. As he tilted his head back to drink, Tonto caught sight of several buzzards circling in the distance, high up in the sky. He quenched his thirst, and studied the birds as he replaced the cap on the canteen and looped the strap over the pommel of his saddle. Something very large must have met its end, for so many to be gathering. His gaze lowered to the small, enclosed canyon below and made a mental note to avoid it for a few days.

He frowned as he caught sight of a fully saddled horse grazing on the brittle grass not far from the narrow entrance to the canyon. Farther away still, another horse was limping as it made its way across the flat plain. To his keen eyes, the gear and tack of the horses marked them as most likely belonging to white men. Tonto's eyes flicked back up to the buzzards, knowing they would descend only when their prey was dead. He felt drawn to the place, when by all rights he knew he ought to fear it. This, however, was one of the many things that set him apart. Whatever had happened here, Tonto could not simply travel on. He gently kneed Scout, and the faithful animal dutifully turned toward the canyon and picked up his pace to cover the distance in only a few minutes.

The grazing horse was skittish and bolted as they drew near. Tonto let it go, relaxing a bit. So nervous a creature would not have stayed if anything dangerous was still near. Still, his hand rested on the handle of the gun at his side as he and Scout walked slowly into the gully. The lose dirt was peppered with the hooves of many horses running at full speed directly into this canyon. Tonto could not tell from the tracks if they were chasing or being chased, and the pattern was so cluttered that even he could not tell how many had left afterward. He knew from hunting in this canyon that there was no other way through; the walls at the other end had collapsed, blocking up the gully.

Soon, he came upon a man sprawled on the ground. He lay half on his back, twisted as though he'd been roughly turned over. Tonto quickly dismounted and ran over, but he was dead. The noon sun reflected brightly off the silver badge in the shape of a star pinned to the man's vest. A Texas Ranger.

A cold weight settled into Tonto's belly at the sight. He looked up and around. The steep, narrow walls on either side amplified the sun and nothing but scrub grew here, making it a perfect setting for an ambush. But there had been two horses, and the buzzards had not yet taken advantage of this bounty. The Texas Rangers held a special place in Tonto's heart, and he could not even consider leaving now.

Not far away was another man, also turned over and bearing the crest of the Rangers, and then a third. The chill spread from Tonto's belly into his chest. These men had not stood a chance, for there was nothing here that could have protected them. It must have been a very clever trap for three rangers to ride full speed into an enclosed canyon and get ambushed. Tonto would not leave them here to be eaten by scavengers.

He signaled Scout with a gesture to remain where he was but as he approached the third dead ranger, he caught sight of a felled horse partially hidden by a large rock. Perhaps the rangers had managed to take down their attackers before they died. Tonto hoped so. When he rounded the boulder, though, he found two more dead rangers. They also laid in attitudes of violent death, turned over as if to make certain they were dead. This close, Tonto could see the many bullet holes in them. Whoever had done this terrible thing had been determined to make sure these men did not leave alive.

Tonto was looking at the defeated remains of a Texas Ranger posse.

Whatever group of murderous outlaws had done this, they were clever and strong. It was not done for money or supplies. The badges were made of silver and would have been taken and melted down. The guns and ammunition had all been ignored, the horses with their gear left to wander. The west was hard country, where might ruled more often than right, and things like this were not left behind. This was intended to leave a message, to strike fear into the hearts of men.

He would lay these men to rest, then go to the nearest town and tell them of what he had found. As he approached, his eyes focused on the ground and narrowed. He knelt, gently touching the furrow in the earth, turning his head to track the bloody path it made with his eyes until it entered the mouth of a small cave. Water trickled from a crack in the rock wall, pooling into a small puddle beside a man, and Tonto's heart began to beat faster as he saw a slight movement. He was not dead.

Tonto moved cautiously, keeping low, for he did not know if this was friend or foe. The man lay on his side, pressing a wet bandana to his face with a soft groan, but then suddenly tried to sit up at the crunch of Tonto's moccasins on the gravel of the cave floor. He fumbled for his weapon, but slipped sideways and braced himself on his elbow.

A glint of silver on the man's vest identified him, and Tonto instantly raised both hands. "Lie still," he said quickly, ignoring the threat of the gun as he knelt beside him. "Me not hurt you." The ranger's elbow gave out and he fell back with a small gasp of pain. The scent of blood was strong in the cave, and the man's face was ghostly pale from the loss of it. What little Tonto could see of the face beyond the bandana was covered with dirt, sweat, and blood, with more of the same matting his hair, but one intent, bright blue eye stared up at him through the grime and tried to focus. The ranger did not reply, but tried once more to rise.

Tonto pushed him back down, wishing that the ranger would be still. He reached for the bandana that was serving as a bandage on his face, but stopped as a thin cord of leather about his neck caught his attention. Something about the pendant strung from it was very familiar. Surprised, he reached down and gently lifted the small bit of metal into his palm.

It had once been a ring, that looked to have been damaged at some point and so fashioned into this charm. Tonto ran his thumb over the surface, wiping away the blood. It bore a raised design of two crossed arrows, the symbol of friendship used by his people.

The sight of it made Tonto's breath grow short and his heart ache with memory. He'd been young, barely ten summers old, when his village had been raided and burned by a renegade tribe while the men of his tribe had been away. His mother and sisters had been killed, and he had been left for dead. He did not know how long he had lain there before a young white man came upon him.

The stranger had set up camp right there in the ashes of Tonto's village, determined to offer what help he could. Tonto's English had been very poor at the time, but the stranger was a cheerful sort, and talked a great deal to try to keep the boy from sinking into too deep a grief. When he was well enough to travel, the stranger had given Tonto his own horse so that he could go in search of his father. Tonto refused to accept this offer, and had insisted on trading this very ring. He never saw the stranger again in the nearly twenty summers that had passed since then, but the path of Tonto's life had been altered forever. He had not forgotten him. Could it really be the same man that lay dying beneath his hands?

The leather cord slipped from his fingers. "Kemosabe?" he asked in stunned disbelief.

The ranger tried to lift his head, but was too weak. "... Kemo... sabe?" he managed to get out between labored breaths. "That sounds... familiar..." His head lolled to one side, barely conscious, as he struggled to concentrate.

The man before him had grown to full maturity, with broader shoulders than the youth Tonto had met, and his face was unrecognizable in its current state. But the voice, though older, deeper, and harsh with pain and dehydration, was unmistakable. "That right, Kemosabe," Tonto said. It was obvious that he'd had taken a severe blow to the head, and it would not surprise Tonto if he couldn't even recall his own name at the moment, let alone something from the past. Tonto had felt, when they'd parted ways, that this stranger was destined for great things and would forget all about the injured boy he'd once helped. But he'd been wrong. Kemosabe remembered him, the ring was proof of that. He kept his voice low and calm, speaking slowly, hoping to get through the delirium. "You trusty scout."

"Trusty … scout..." the man muttered.

"Long time back," Tonto persisted. "When we both young, you save me from dying." The ranger struggled to sit up again, and Tonto rested a hand on his chest to keep him from moving. If he could only get Kemosabe to remember him, maybe he would lay still and let Tonto get a good look at the injury. "I call you Kemosabe... it mean Trusty Scout," he repeated. "Now do you remember?"

The ranger wrapped a hand around Tonto's wrist, as if he meant to push it away, but then stopped moving entirely and frowned. "You... You're Tonto," he said. His voice was barely audible, the name spoken with a mixture of surprise and relief.

Despite the dire circumstances, Tonto smiled. "Yes, Kemosabe. Me Tonto." The ranger stared at him in a daze, but had stopped struggling. "Rest," Tonto said quietly. "I take care of _you_ now."

Kemosabe sighed and gave up the battle to remain awake. "Tonto..." he muttered as his eyes closed into exhausted unconsciousness.

Tonto's smile faded as his old friend's arm slid to the ground, suddenly aware that he may have made a promise he could not keep. He returned to Scout, who had been waiting patiently, and led the horse back to the cave. He removed the saddle, dragging everything over to where the man lay, and set up camp near the pool. He filled his small traveling pot with water, set it on the campfire, and then went to work.

Tonto was not a shaman of his people, but he had taken an interest in healing and had a natural gift for it. He'd even learned some of the white man's medicine, whenever he came across some one willing to teach him something new. But then, many things about Tonto were a curious mixture of cultures. Ever since a stranger had stopped by a burned village to look for survivors, Tonto had been unable to do less than the same in his travels.

As he carefully peeled away the wet bandana, however, Tonto had never been so grateful as he was now that he had taken up this practice. A bullet had grazed the ranger's temple, leaving an angry red welt that disappeared into his hairline. A mottled bruise radiated from it and his left eye was swollen completely shut. Tonto ran deft fingers over Kemosabe's cheek and through his hair, but did not find anything that felt as though bone had given way. He considered that a miracle, and gave a small shake of his head at the incredible luck of this man. He certainly had a concussion, but Tonto decided it could wait.

His right shoulder was soaked in both dried and fresh blood and the vest peeled away from the cloth beneath with a sticky, wet sound. This was the source of most of the lost blood. The bullet had not exited, and needed to be removed. The injured man had ground dirt, rocks, and leaves into it as he dragged himself to the water, and this was of more concern to Tonto than the wound itself.

Tonto called upon all the healing lore he knew to save his friend, first boiling the blade of his knife and the few bandages he carried with him. He poured some of the water from the pot into a bowl, sprinkled the contents of a paper packet over it, then set it aside to steep and cool. He stirred in a tried and proven mixture of herbs known to ward off infection into the pot, then let the bandages soak while he cut away the ruined vest and shirt. He carefully pried the bullet out of Kemosabe's shoulder, then used most of his meager supply of bandages to clean and dress the wound. Tonto wrung out the last of the bandages and used it to gently wipe away the grime and blood from the ranger's face.

Having nothing else left to use, Tonto washed the bloodied bandana in the pool and then in the medicine pot before using it to bandage the head wound. He poured what was left in the pot over the ranger's hair, using a comb to remove as much of the blood and mud as he could. Tonto undid the fastenings for the ranger's belt and gun belt, pulled both free and set them off to the side. He was in no condition to fight anyway, and this would ease his breathing. Tonto sighed and patted his unconscious friend on the arm. He would not know until tomorrow for certain, but for now things looked very promising.

Tonto cleared a patch of the cave floor of rocks and pebbles, laid out his sleeping blanket, and situated Scout's saddle. The ranger woke with a groan when Tonto moved him onto the make-shift bed instead of laying in the dirt. "Sorry, Kemosabe."

Kemosabe blinked at him in confusion. "Tonto," he said. "I thought I was hallucinating."

Tonto smiled, and ducked his chin in an almost shy gesture. "Yes," was all he said as he readjusted the bandage on his friend's shoulder. The ranger winced and looked down at it, but when he reached up as if it to touch it, Tonto quickly brushed his hand away. "No, Kemosabe," he said. "It must heal."

Tonto picked up the bowl, and pressed the rim to his parched lips. Medicine sloshed onto both of them as the ranger jerked away, startled, and Tonto quickly pushed against his chest with one hand while keeping the rest of the liquid from spilling into the dirt with his other. This was white man's medicine, and he did not have much of it. "Drink, Kemosabe," Tonto urged, lightly gripping his chin with his fingers to guide him back to the bowl.

The ranger looked down at it, and finally understood. He balked only a moment at the bitterness, but his thirst overruled the taste. He drank deeply until the bowl was empty and Tonto smiled, pleased. This small task had completely drained the ranger, and he was asleep again within seconds of leaning back against the saddle. Tonto checked under the bandage around his head again to reassure himself that it had not begun to swell ominously, then smoothed the cloth back into place. He would wake him in a few hours, just to make sure, but he knew that sleep was the best thing for him now.

All that was left to do for him was wait, but Tonto was not one to keep idle. He stepped out of the cave and looked toward the sun. Most of the day was gone, but there was still several hours of light left to work with and much to be done.

Tonto didn't know how long it would take to get his friend back on his feet. He did not have provisions for an extended stay in any one location, because he preferred to travel light and rely on the land to provide. It was summer, and even in this dry gully there was plenty of brush to shelter small animals. While the ranger slept, Tonto fashioned a simple Paiute trap from the materials at hand. The trap did not require his attention, and would serve its purpose while he attended to his next grim task.

Tonto returned to the rock that the two Rangers — three— had taken shelter behind. It was mostly open space here, and seemed fitting. The ground was dry and came away in large, brittle chunks as Tonto dug into it with his knife. It was the hottest part of day, not the best time to be digging graves, but Tonto refused to allow these brave men to be food for vultures. Tonto was soaked in sweat by the time he was finished, and very tired.

He sat down in the shade of the rock and contemplated the dead men as he rested. He did not know many of the rituals of the white man, and had encountered many different customs in his travels. Even his own beliefs had changed a little over the years since he'd left his home tribe. These were men that had devoted their lives to bringing order and justice, and a great injustice had happened here. He didn't know if the spirits of the rangers would be angry or vengeful about the manner of their deaths, and he did not want to desecrate them in any way.

He knew that white men would often keep something in memory, and he did not believe the spirits of the dead needed clothing and supplies. He did not think they would begrudge their kin the use of them. So Tonto respectfully removed their badges, vests, guns, ammunition, and anything else he found that might be of sentimental value or usefulness. He buried all five of them, one at a time. He said a native prayer for each, hoping they could find peace, but bound two branches in the shape of a cross in the white man's custom to use as a marker for each grave.

Lastly, Tonto stripped the dead horse and brought the gear and supplies into the shelter of the cave. He checked on Kemosabe, but his friend slept soundly. Tonto strung rope over Scout's sturdy neck and shoulders and walked beside the horse as they dragged the heavy corpse to a far corner of the canyon. When they were finished, Tonto looked up at the buzzards again. Theirs was a grizzly job, but a necessary one, and he left them to it.

The sun was setting by the time Tonto and Scout trudged back to the cave. The horse drank deeply from the pool while Tonto used a small brush on the animal's hide to remove the dried sweat. He gave the horse a friendly pat on the rump to send him on his way, and Scout headed directly to a patch of grass near the cave entrance. Tonto checked on the ranger again, and was disheartened to see beads of sweat on his forehead. He had feared he might take a fever despite his precautions. Tonto looked through the supplies from the dead horse, and was relieved to find a compact medical kit. He changed the bandages, noting the red edges of the shoulder wound. He slathered extra salve on it, but ultimately it would come down to the endurance of the injured man. He was young and fit, perhaps five summers older than Tonto, though of a much brawnier build.

Tonto used the last rays of sunlight to collect kindling and dry wood for the fire, and then unpacked the rest of the saddlebags from the rangers. He gathered any cooking supplies and food he found to the campfire, and set the rest aside in a small pile. Rope, clothing, an extra blanket. The Rangers traveled light as well, but Tonto would put everything to good use. Of it all, Tonto was most grateful for the dried foods. He could hunt and gather whatever he needed, but he was tired and glad that he did not need to do so tonight.

Tonto rekindled the fire then made a soup in his pot, and poured most of the broth into a bowl. He stirred some herbs into the bowl and set it aside to cool while he ate what remained in the pot. Tonto knelt beside the Ranger, bowl in hand, and gently tapped his cheek to rouse him. The one uncovered eye drifted open, and eventually managed to focus on him. "Drink, Kemosabe," Tonto said. The ranger seemed confused, and tried to look around, but Tonto pressed the bowl to his mouth. "Drink. Give you strength."

The ranger focused on him again. "Tonto?"

"Yes, Kemosabe," Tonto answered, but persisted. "You must drink."

The ranger gave him a small nod. Tonto tipped the bowl slowly as his friend drank, careful to make sure he did not take too much at once. He managed to get most of the broth into him before he laid back against Scout's saddle in exhaustion. "Rest, Kemosabe," Tonto said softly, setting the bowl on a nearby rock. The ranger said something too quietly for Tonto to hear, but was asleep again in moments.

The sun had slipped over the horizon and soon the chill of desert night would be upon them. Tonto shook out a blanket and covered his friend, then situated the second saddle and laid out a bedroll for himself. He did not know what had happened in this valley, and if anyone else might come along. He checked one of the rifles as a precaution, making sure it was fully loaded, and propped it against the rock wall as he bedded down for the night.

Despite his tired muscles, sleep did not come readily. As he lay on the cave floor, staring up at the rocky ceiling, his thoughts kept turning to the past. It had been the most difficult time of Tonto's life, but it had shaped the man he would become. It had been a time of grief, but also happiness. He turned his head to regard the injured man resting against Scout's saddle. He'd been sent east to be educated, and was on his way home to visit for the summer when he came across Tonto's burned village.

Tonto was not a talkative person at the best of times, and in his grief had been mostly silent. But this man, a complete stranger to him, had talked a great deal. Tonto had listened, first without interest but then with growing enthusiasm as he told many stories about his home state, Texas, and the great deeds of the Rangers that patrolled there. He'd spoken with such vigor that it was impossible not to get caught up in the heroic tales. They'd even made up their own stories, making a game of it. His new friend enjoyed acting out different roles, entertaining his injured young companion. Tonto knew his name, but he'd taken to calling him Kemosabe. It was more a title than a name, one of the highest honors a man of his tribe could earn. At first he'd used it for play, but by the time he was well enough to travel it had just seemed fitting.

The Texas Rangers that Tonto had met in later years had fallen short of the ideals he'd been expecting of them, but no man could live up to the fanciful musings of a teenager. But there were not a great many rangers, and only the very best lawmen were chosen. They did what they believed was right, and Tonto had a great deal of respect for them. Tonto was not the least surprised to find Kemosabe wearing the badge of the Texas Rangers. Tonto's thoughts began to drift, remembering those old stories, and he was not aware that he'd fallen asleep until something woke him.

His gun was in his hand before his eyes had even finished opening, and he stared into the darkness beyond the cave for a long moment. Tonto had become accustomed to relying on Scout to alert him to intruders, and even in sleep he was trained to listen for the various sounds the animal made. But the horse had been dozing quietly until Tonto jerked awake. Scout lifted his head and blinked lazily at him.

Confused, Tonto slowly lowered the gun.

He looked away from the cave entrance when Kemosabe muttered something. Tonto's eyes widened in alarm and he quickly set the gun aside. The ranger was laying on his side, having slipped from the backrest of the saddle. The campfire had burned down to embers, but even in that feeble light Tonto could see that his entire body was drenched in sweat.

Kemosabe groaned as he struggled to rise, and Tonto hurried over to help. The ranger collapsed against the saddle, panting from the effort, and his eyes were glazed over with fever. Tonto quickly grabbed up the nearest bit of cloth at hand – a spare shirt – and dunked it into the small pool beside them. The water was very cold now, and the ranger gasped in surprise when Tonto pressed it to his forehead.

The ranger shoved Tonto's hands aside and started to sit up, and a red stain was already spreading through the bandage on the shoulder wound. Tonto tried to push him back down. "Kemosabe, you be still, or—"

"Dan!" The ranger reached for his gun, and Tonto was very glad now that it was not there. He tried again to push him back, and this time succeeded as the man's strength gave out. His friend was staring right at him, but Tonto knew he was seeing something else entirely. Tonto brushed the cool cloth over his jaw and cheek that was not wrapped in bandages, trying to draw away some of the heat, but paused at the wrenching sadness in the ranger's uncovered eye. "Not Dan..." He went still again, breathing shallowly as fevered sleep claimed him once again.

Tonto dipped the cloth into the pool again with a heavy heart. He had never met Dan, but was not surprised that Kemosabe called for him now in his delirium. He had spoken very fondly of his elder brother in his tales of the Texas Rangers, for Dan was among their number. Kemosabe had proudly declared that he would become one as well one day. Tonto dabbed at his face and throat a bit more until his strained breathing settled into an even rhythm, then rekindled the fire and redressed the shoulder wound.

Kemosabe continued to toss and turn fretfully, muttering, as Tonto waited out the fever with him over the next few hours. Tonto did not speak English well enough to make out most of the half formed words and incomplete sentences. The words he did catch did not make sense. The sky was just beginning to lighten when the fever finally broke, the stars fading from the blackness into the deep blue before dawn. His breathing evened out, and he slipped into a natural sleep.

Tonto made another herbal broth, and mixed in some of the dried vegetables and meat to soften. He leaned back against the cave wall, intending to watch the sun rise, but the very, very long day finally caught up to him. His chin drooped until it rested against his chest, and Tonto reluctantly closed his eyes to the sound of birds beginning their day with song.


	2. Chapter 2

_"That all men are created equal and that everyone has within himself the power to make this a better world."_

* * *

Tonto opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as a bright ray of sunlight slipped over the edge of the cave entrance and into his face. He had not moved at all since he'd fallen asleep, and his muscles protested stiffly as his lifted his chin. He stretched his arms out above his head, wincing as his spine cracked unhappily, and rubbed a tired hand across the back of his neck. He tilted his head up at the sky, judging the position of the sun, and let out a startled gasp of surprise. The morning was half gone! Tonto turned to check on his friend, but froze when he saw that the man was awake.

He was laying very still, the arm of his bandaged shoulder resting across his bare stomach, regarding him quietly with his good eye. He blinked slowly, as if this small motion took more energy than he could spare. "Ta-i, Tonto."

Tonto smiled, pleased that he remembered the greeting. "Ta-i, Kemosabe," he answered, but then frowned. "How long you awake?"

"Maybe an hour."

Tonto made a disapproving noise. "Why you not wake me?" he asked as he picked up the bowl of cold soup from the uneven stone table and set it at the edge of the campfire. "You plenty thirsty. Me know. Too long." He used a stick to stir up the glowing coals of the fire, and fed it a few small branches to get it going. The ranger had not replied, and Tonto wondered if he'd fallen asleep again, but when he looked back he found he was still being watched.

A small, tired smile lifted a corner of the ranger's mouth. "You looked like you needed it."

Tonto shook his head. "Me sleep plenty later," he said. "Soup warm soon."

Kemosabe glanced at the bowl heating up by the flames, and then began to sit up.

Tonto twisted around swiftly, raising an arm to stop him. "Not move!"

The ranger groaned, falling back suddenly as a wave of vertigo struck him, and pressed a hand to the bandages wrapped about his skull as every drop of blood drained from his face. Tonto sighed when Kemosabe leaned over the side of the saddle and retched. He stayed bent over, panting, as Tonto dipped a spare bandana into the pool.

"Why you do that, Kemosabe?" Tonto asked, making no effort to hide his dismay. Kemosabe was an adept healer, better than himself, and should have known better.

Tonto gave him the cloth to wipe his face. There wasn't much of a mess, as he'd not eaten anything solid in at least a full day. When he'd gotten his breath back, the ranger looked toward the mouth of the cave and after several long seconds he turned slowly to look back at Tonto. Tonto frowned, not understanding the uncomfortable look of embarrassment that was creeping over his friend's face.

"Too much soup," the ranger said.

Tonto relaxed, relieved the problem was so simple. He picked up a bowl from near the campfire and held it out.

Kemosabe's eyes widened with a look of dawning horror.

"You not move," Tonto warned sternly. There was no point debating the issue, and they both knew it. There was apology in Tonto's eyes as he offered the bowl again, but he would not allow the man to risk aggravating his injuries for the sake of pride.

The ranger reluctantly accepted the solution, his mouth drawn in a tight, unhappy frown.

"Me go check trap," Tonto said, getting to his feet. He could at least offer him some privacy. The ranger watched him leave, bowl in hand, without comment.

His own needs attended to, Tonto's blade then made short work of the rabbit caught by the trap. He reset the trap, gave Scout a friendly pat on his way back to the cave, and laid the carcass across a rock near the campfire. Kemosabe would not meet his eyes as Tonto collected the bowl, disposed of its contents, then rinsed it out. He set it back down near the ranger, in case it was needed later, but said nothing as he returned to the fire.

Tonto used a wooden spoon to stir the bowl of soup, checking that it was not too hot, and passed it to Kemosabe. The ranger accepted it with a wan little smile of thanks. Tonto returned the smile, then set about filling his pot with water. He carved up the rabbit, snapping the largest bones so that the marrow was exposed, before adding it to the pot.

When Tonto returned his attention to his friend, it was to see that he was dozing, the half eaten bowl of soup resting on the cave floor. Tonto moved to sit beside him, picked up the bowl, and tapped his shoulder to wake him. Kemosabe blinked sleepily at him.

"Must finish," Tonto said, holding up the bowl for him to see.

"Later, Tonto," the ranger said, his eyes drifting closed. "Tired."

"No, Kemosabe," Tonto insisted. "This good medicine."

The ranger opened his eyes again, but the morning's efforts had drained what little energy he'd gained from healing. Tonto scooped up a spoonful and held it out to him. "Me help, Kemosabe."

Being too weak to take care of one's basic needs, forced to rely on some one else, was a humbling experience. It was one Tonto was well familiar with, though it had been easier to accept as a child. This man was strong and brave and did not wish to be fed by hand.

"Heal faster, grow stronger," Tonto said quietly.

Kemosabe took a slow, deep breath. He was not too proud or stubborn to accept help when he needed it. It took a little while, but eventually the bowl was empty and Tonto helped him lie back against the saddle.

"Thanks, Tonto," Kemosabe muttered, already half asleep.

Tonto tended to the rabbit until it was done, ate his fill, then set the pot back near the edge of the fire to simmer into a rich broth for later. He chopped some firewood and gathered kindling for perhaps an hour or two, and saw that the ranger was awake again when he returned.

Pleased that his friend was waking more often today, Tonto poured a measure of the broth into a bowl. It was important that the injured man get enough fluids, and Tonto had found that many small meals a couple hours apart worked well. Kemosabe had been staring up at the roof of the cave, but looked at him as Tonto sat down on the cave floor at his side.

All thought of food fled from Tonto's thoughts.

A man might think that surviving a disaster might be cause for celebration. That living when others had not might make a man grateful to whatever divine powers he pledged allegiance. This was not true, not always.

Tonto's people had not died without a fight. He had tried to join the defense of his tribe, but he'd been only a boy. The memory of his friends and family being cut down around him while the smoke from their burning homes choked the air and horses screamed in panic had tormented him for many years. Tonto had been driven – still was – to atone for the price of his survival at the expense of those he loved.

The pain would never be truly gone, but, like most wounds, had faded with time. Kemosabe's pain was fresh and raw, and made Tonto's soul ache. It was unsettling to see such light eyes, eyes he'd always remembered as being full of hope and the simple joy of living, darkened now by grief, guilt, and anger.

Words had never been one of Tonto's strengths, and he had none to ease the haunted look of loss. All he had to offer was a sharing of the pain through knowledge gained from a similar experience. When he finally spoke, his voice was made even deeper than his usual low timbre, and rough with emotion. "Tonto understand."

Kemosabe had always been the one who had the right words, but he said nothing now. The silence stretched between them, heavy enough that it seemed one could reach out and touch it, but also as ethereal as smoke. It filled the tiny cave, twining about two men from very different worlds and uniting them with something that mere language could never hope to describe.

It was only when his lungs demanded oxygen that Tonto realized he'd stopped using them. The breath he took seemed loud, and the silence evaporated. Something changed in Kemosabe's face, lifting a shade of the darkness in his eyes. It looked as if he wanted to say something, but the powerful moment had exhausted him. Though he tried to fight it, his eyelids fluttered closed into a sleep that bordered on unconsciousness.

Tonto looked down at the bowl of broth in his hands. It would have been good for Kemosabe to have eaten... but the spirit had needed sustenance more than the body. He set it aside for now, knowing that it would keep for the hour or so that the ranger would likely rest before waking again.

Kemosabe spent most of the day in and out of asleep as the sun made its slow journey across the sky. He seemed to have come to an acceptance of the situation, and made no protests when Tonto changed the bandages or helped him eat. Tonto was not quite sure when he'd made the decision, but he did not leave the cave except for once when Kemosabe had to make use of the bowl.

While his friend slept, Tonto occupied himself with repairing some damage to the second saddle, then mending his blanket and extra clothing (a chore he'd been putting off for over a week). He had collected a small arsenal of guns from the dead rangers, and he cleaned and oiled each one. Simple tasks that did not really need to be done, but served a purpose and kept his hands busy.

Tonto checked on the ranger often as he worked. Sometimes he found Kemosabe staring up at the roof of their rocky shelter, and sometimes he'd be watching Tonto, but he did not speak. Tonto was too familiar with the conflicting, alternating need to be alone and in the company of another to do anything but honor the silence. If Kemosabe could draw some measure of solace from his presence, then he would gladly give it. Words were not needed.

Tonto prepared the evening meal as the sun sank below the horizon, using up most of the travel rations. Tomorrow, he would need to do some hunting. He was familiar with this valley, and knew where many plants and herbs grew. They would not go hungry. Kemosabe was strong enough to hold his bowl of stew, and finished the entire thing without any aid. Tonto smiled, pleased, and Kemosabe returned it for the first time since they'd spoken.

Tonto stifled a yawn as they sat together in companionable silence and listened to the fire crackle. It did not seem as though he had done much work that day, but he felt drained. He had remade his bed closer to Kemosabe after repairing the bedroll, and wearily settled into it now. He turned his head to check one more time on his friend, expecting to find him asleep already, but he was quietly watching him again.

"Good night, Tonto," the ranger said.

Tonto hummed a sleepy response, his eyes already growing too heavy to keep them open. "Mno dbeke, Kemosabe."


	3. Chapter 3

_"That God put the firewood there but that every man must gather and light it himself."_

* * *

Tonto woke with the sun the next day, feeling much better for the solid night's rest.

Kemosabe was still asleep, so Tonto went to check on the trap. It was empty, however - the animals in this valley knew to avoid the cave now. He considered moving it, but in the end he took it apart and decided to return to the cave for now and do some hunting later.

Kemosabe woke with a sudden start as Tonto was stirring a leftover bowl of stew to loosen it. "Tonto?" Tonto set the bowl down at the edge of the fire to warm and moved to within view. The ranger looked confused for a moment, and looked around. "I must have drifted off again."

Tonto gave him a little smile of understanding, but didn't say anything.

The ranger looked around the cave again as if seeing it for the first time. Tonto had ended up unpacking the entire contents of both saddlebags, making use of almost everything at hand. A space had been cleared to serve as a workstation when he'd been doing repairs and tending to the guns. The place had the lived in feeling of a home more than a temporary camp. "How long have I been here now?"

"Three day," Tonto answered, his spirits rising quickly. For the first time, Kemosabe's gaze was unclouded and alert. "How you feel?"

"Still a little weak," the ranger replied honestly. He drew a slow breath, as if preparing himself for the next words. "The other rangers, Tonto... all dead?"

Tonto nodded, and hummed a low tone of regret.

The ranger sighed. Tonto was certain he'd already known the answer, but it was a question he'd had to ask now that his head was clear. There was a new resolve in Kemosabe's eyes that Tonto did not understand. "One of them, Captain Reid, was my brother."

Tonto's shoulders slouched with regret and he shook his head sadly. "Too bad. Rangers all good men."

The ranger's eyes unfocused, seeing something else. "We didn't have a chance, Tonto. It was a perfect ambush and double cross." He did not dwell on it for long, however, and soon returned to the present. He tilted his head at Tonto in curiosity. "How did you happen to find me?"

"Me hunt here in canyon often," Tonto replied. "Ride in on Scout, over yonder," he continued, and gestured to the front of the cave. The ranger followed the motion, turning his head to regard the unsaddled brown and white horse. "Find rangers and dead horse."

"I see."

"While you sleep, me bury other rangers over there," Tonto continued, and Kemosabe's eyes tracked where he pointed. "Make graves for men. Bring belongings here," Tonto finished, lowering his hand to indicate the small pile of clothing, hats, gun belts, and mementos in a neat stack beside the ranger.

The ranger stared at the collection for a moment before looking back up. "That was good of you, Tonto."

Tonto did not know what to say. Kemosabe had buried most of a village while the lone survivor healed, and Tonto's efforts here seemed so small in comparison. Mere words did not seem like enough, but his friend was silent, waiting. "Them brave men."

"Yes, they were brave," Kemosabe agreed. His voice hardened, and Tonto unconsciously drew himself up straighter in attention. "And they won't be forgotten. I've spent a lot of time thinking. For every one of those men, I'm going to bring a hundred men to justice. I'll make that Cavandish gang – and every criminal I can find for that matter – regret the day those rangers were killed." Tonto's breath stilled in his chest at the sudden intensity of Kemosabe's gaze. "Tonto, from this moment on, I'm going to devote my life to establishing law and order in this new frontier," the ranger vowed. "To make the west a decent place to live."

"That good!" Tonto said, glad that his friend had come out of this with renewed determination to continue as a lawman. It was good to see the spirit of purpose returning, but Tonto frowned in concern. He'd heard of these outlaws, for they'd been terrorizing the area for some time. He glanced at the row of graves in the sun beyond the cave entrance before looking back at his friend. "But when Cavandish gang know you escape ambush, you marked man. They hunt you down, many against one."

The ranger nodded, having already considered this. "No one's going to know I'm alive," he explained. "I'm supposed to be dead, and I'm going to stay that way. I'll hide my identity somehow. I'll wear a disguise of some sort."

Tonto quickly warmed to the plan. "You mean like mask?"

The ranger's eyebrows rose, suddenly struck by inspiration. "That's it, Tonto. From now on I'll wear a mask." He looked down at the stack of items beside him, and began to sift through it. "Let's see... there ought to be some material here I can use." He set aside a few things, and then suddenly stopped. He lifted a black vest. It had several small bullet holes in it, each stiff with dried blood. The ranger blinked several times, and swallowed thickly. "Here... this."

Tonto drew his knife, but went still again as the ranger's fingers curled into the material and he brought it to his chest. "My bother's vest. Belonged to one of the bravest of them all."

Tonto could see that the intensity of the moment was quickly sapping the strength of the ranger, and his friend looked surprised but did not resist as Tonto gently took the vest from him. "Me help, Kemosabe. You rest now."

The ranger hesitated reluctantly, but was too drained to protest. "All right, Tonto. Thanks." Tonto switched the bundle of fabric to his knife hand so he could help the ranger lay back down until he was satisfied that he was comfortable. The stew would wait. The man was asleep again within seconds.

Tonto lifted his blade to cut into the material, but after a few seconds he set the knife down again. He unpinned the bloodied Texas Ranger badge, carefully set it back in the pile, then drew the vest through his fingers. It was made of a heavy, durable cloth with a white silken lining on the inside. Tonto's thumb absently moved over the fabric as he looked towards the graves again.

There were many differences between the native peoples of this land and the colonists from across the great oceans, but Tonto was more inclined to see the things they had in common. The white man did things differently, but often for the same reasons. The braves of his tribe would paint the faces of their comrades when they prepared for battle, and this is what Tonto felt was happening now. He looked down at the cloth, flexing it in his hands as he studied it. If this was to be the warpaint Kemosabe chose to wear while he avenged the death of his brother and fellow rangers, then Tonto would not simply carve out a strip and poke eye holes in it.

Tonto was not a tailor, but he was no stranger to a sewing needle. He'd been traveling alone for a very long time, and he knew how to wash and mend his own clothing. Tonto gave the matter some thought, planning out every step he would take in crafting this mask until he felt confident enough to put his blade to use. He cut a diagonal band from the back of the garment, from top to bottom, avoiding any damaged part. Without anything to hold them together, the soft lining fell away from the courser material of the vest.

Tonto carefully unwrapped the bandages from around the ranger's head, pleased to see that the wound was continuing to heal well. The bruising was much lighter and the swollen eye was almost back to normal. It was the combined concussion, loss of blood, and Tonto's very potent healing herbal broths that was causing him to sleep so much. He decided it no longer needed to be bandaged. For now, however, Tonto had a different goal.

He dipped the length of cloth into the pool, then wrung it out. The ranger stirred when Tonto laid the wet material across his eyes, but he'd become accustomed to having the bandages changed and so did not wake. Tonto smoothed the cloth out over Kemosabe's face, then pressed his fingers into it to mold it to his features. He used the very tip of his knife to lightly score the cloth, making sure the area he traced around the eyes was large enough for none of his vision to be blocked.

When he had the pattern he wanted, Tonto laid the mask across a rock and began to cut away the extra cloth. The Cavandish gang was large, strong, and well organized. Tonto did not doubt that Kemosabe would eventually bring them down, but it might take a while. He might need to wear this mask for long stretches at a time, in all manners of weather. It needed to fit well and be comfortable. Tonto cut a matching pattern from the lining, then sewed the two halves together. He then hemmed the long ties on the sides of the mask, so that the edges would not fray. He chose a simple, basic stitch that everyone in his tribe knew, but Tonto used painstaking care with each pull of the thread.

When at last he was done, he checked the mask over for any flaws. He found none, and smiled in satisfaction.

"It looks good, Tonto." Tonto looked up, startled. Kemosabe was watching him, and smiled at his surprise. Tonto had no idea how long he'd been awake, and realized he had not checked on his friend in several hours. The ranger held out his hand. "May I see it?"

Tonto hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, before passing it to him.

Kemosabe's smile faded as he drew the length of cloth through his hands, and felt the soft lining on the inside of the mask. He slowly ran the tips of his fingers over the tiny, careful stitches that were not in a white man's pattern but were instead a distinctive trademark of Tonto's people. The ranger stared down at it, unmoving, for a long time and Tonto began to worry that he was displeased.

When he finally looked up, however, his eyes were shining. "This is beautiful."

Tonto smiled with pride as Kemosabe looked back down at the mask in admiration. He hadn't realized he'd spent so much time on it, however, and the day was more than half gone with much left to do. "Me hunt now," Tonto said.

Kemosabe sighed. "I wish I could help. I feel useless."

Tonto shook his head. "You rest, Kemosabe. Grow strong."

The ranger stroked the black mask absently. "Yes... I will do that, Tonto."

For the first time since he'd arrived, Tonto ventured farther than a few feet from the mouth of the cave. Scout whickered to him as he passed, and Tonto stopped to give him some attention for a little while. Soon, though, he headed out into the valley. He did not wish to be away from Kemosabe, but he preferred open spaces to walls and suddenly realized how confined he'd been starting to feel. The sun felt good on his skin and he broke into a light jog, and then a full out sprint, grinning with the sheer pleasure of running.

He returned a few hours later with a brace of rabbits, a bunch of fresh berries in a hastily woven basket made of dried grass, and several fat, starchy tubers still covered in dirt. Kemosabe had fallen asleep again, and the fire had died down to embers. The small cave had grown nearly stifling with the heat, so Tonto decided to bank the fire and cook with the coals. He found a large, flat rock, scrubbed it fairly clean, and laid it across the fire pit. He washed the tubers in the pool, then wrapped them in wet leaves and set them on the rock to bake. He did much the same for the rabbits, though he seasoned them with some of his herbs. He carried them mostly for medicinal reasons, but they were also very tasty. Tonto's spirits were high, and he hummed an old tune to himself as he worked.

It seemed as though Kemosabe grew stronger by the hour. He slept a lot, but it was by choice, as if he were deliberately conserving his strength and channeling his energy into healing. He woke only to eat, and he ate heartily. By the time the sun set in a spectacular display of color, Kemosabe was able to forgo the bowl and leave the cave on his own power. When he was gone a long time, however, Tonto grew concerned and left in search of him. He found him not far from the cave, standing beside the graves. He slipped back unnoticed into the cave and began preparing their evening meal.

Kemosabe was very somber when he returned, and Tonto respected his unvoiced desire for solitude. They ate dinner in silence, but it was not awkward or uncomfortable. They watched the fire for a while afterward, taking turns dipping into the flimsy, lopsided grass basket to munch on berries. Tonto wondered what Kemosabe was thinking, but he did not ask. When he settled into his bedroll, it was with a sense of anticipation.

Something about the resolve in Kemosabe's eyes, the way he moved, made Tonto feel that tomorrow would be a momentous day.


	4. Chapter 4

_"In being prepared physically, mentally, and morally to fight when necessary for that which is right."_

* * *

They breakfasted on the last of the bread, toasted because it was going stale, with the rest of the berries smeared on it, and hot herbal tea.

The ranger looked down at himself and wrinkled his nose. "I need a bath," he said, and rubbed a hand over the dark stubble of his chin. "And a shave."

Tonto nodded without comment, and Kemosabe snorted. It was one of those things that was different between their races. White men quickly developed a much stronger odor than Tonto's people, if the matter was left unattended. The ranger gestured at the little pool that had served them so well. A trickle of water led from it, down the floor of the cave and out into the valley. "Is this the only water around?"

Tonto shook his head and pointed a bit to the left of the cave entrance. "Water join stream not far away."

"Good," the ranger said and got to his feet. He did it carefully but without any help, brushing off bits of leaves and small pebbles that stuck to his pants.

Tonto idly swirled the dregs of his tea in the metal cup, staring down at it. A sense of loss had been slowly creeping over him since the sun had woken them. He looked up again, watching Kemosabe as the ranger knelt next to the saddle that he'd been using as a pillow. He rested a hand on the leather, his smile from before gone. Tonto did not know which grave this saddle had belonged to, but he knew from Kemosabe's expression the first time he'd seen it that it was not the survivor's.

The ranger gave the saddle a small pat, as if thanking the owner, then flipped open one of the pouches. Extra clothing was a luxury most travelers in the west did not spare much space for, but the bag held one change of clothing and a compact shaving kit. He gave Tonto a little salute as he gathered these up, then headed out. "Adios."

A cold, leaden weight settled into Tonto's stomach. "Me hunt while you busy," he called after him.

"Thanks, Tonto," the ranger said over his shoulder, and then disappeared into the brush.

Tonto frowned, then shook off the feeling. He looked at the mask, laying across a rock. It seemed to him that it would cover less than half of Kemosabe's face. Anyone who had actually known him would still recognize him. His voice, in particular, was unmistakable. But Kemosabe only meant to hide his identity from the outlaws, so it would be enough. Still... Tonto thought it would be better if he looked as differently from before as possible.

Tonto looked down at the hats stacked neatly by the saddle. He did not know which was Kemosabe's, but all of the hats he'd gathered were shades of brown except for one. It was a pale cream, with a cord threaded through it that had kept it with its owner even after he'd fallen. Tonto picked it up, holding it carefully. This had been worn by the man wearing the black vest. This had belonged to Captain Dan Reid.

It was the most different, and seemed fitting. And so Tonto went further upstream to wash it, adjusted the shape of it so that even that did not look the same, then set it on a rock to dry. It was nearly noon by the time he returned with the raw materials for today's meals. He collected the hat on his way back to the cave, noting that the sun had bleached it whiter, and smiled. He liked the black and white contrast.

Tonto was greeted by the most amazing smell as he returned to camp. He set the hat down on a rock to finish drying before entering the shade of the cave and see what his friend was doing. Kemosabe had pulled up a rock to sit on, and was attempting to bandage his own shoulder. He would have gotten it done eventually, but there was no need. Tonto set down his freshly woven basket with its birds, herbs, and berries and took the cloth that had been serving as a sling away from him with a look of rebuke.

"Should wear sling, Kemosabe," Tonto said, when it became clear that he'd been trying to use it as a tie to keep the folded bandage on his shoulder in place.

The ranger shook his head. "It's healed enough."

Tonto hesitated, then sighed and wrapped the shoulder. That done, he helped the ranger get the shirt on, a long sleeved blue one made from cotton. When Kemosabe started to tie a bandana loosely about his neck in his customary manner, Tonto shook his head. The ranger paused, raising an eyebrow. "Tie different, Kemosabe. Not look same."

The ranger gave that a moment of thought, then nodded. "Good idea, Tonto," he said, and tossed the black paisley bandana back onto the saddlebag. The only other one was a plain red, and he chose that instead. He tied it sideways about his neck, higher up than was practical, and then looked at Tonto with a little flourish of his hands. "How's that?"

"Look like how big city tenderfoot wear," Tonto commented.

Kemosabe smiled. "That's about as different as I can make it."

Although Tonto could not stand to have anything about his neck whatsoever, he understood the practical and useful nature of the western bandana, so he did not suggest that the ranger forgo it entirely. He nodded, satisfied, then he took a deep breath. "What good smell, Kemosabe?"

The ranger pointed at the campfire. He had stirred up the fire, and had set a tall kettle near it before trying to do the bandage. Tonto had seen the kettle before, but its insides had not made sense to him so he'd left it alone. "Your tea is very good, Tonto, but I've missed my coffee."

"Coffee?"

The ranger's eyebrows rose. "You've never had coffee?"

Tonto had heard of it, of course, but he'd never had occasion to drink it. The only places that sold it usually wanted a fair amount of American coin for it, and Tonto had never cared to indulge his curiosity at that price. He shook his head.

Kemosabe poured two cups, and held one out. Tonto accepted it, sniffing cautiously as the ranger took a sip and sighed with contentment. It smelled very nice, not like anything he'd ever tried before. He took a mouthful, but the second the hot liquid hit his tongue he choked and spat it out on the ground.

The ranger laughed suddenly, a hearty sound that took them both a little by surprise. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding anything but as Tonto wiped his chin with his sleeve, "I shouldn't laugh. I guess you don't like it?"

Tonto stared at the cup as though it had betrayed him. "It not taste like it smell!"

Kemosabe made a little gesture with his cup. "Well, there are lots of ways to sweeten it, but I like it just the way it is." He took another contented sip, then gave Tonto an apologetic smile. "Though I've been told I do make it pretty strong."

His friend did not seem upset in the least, but this had been made by Kemosabe's own hand and Tonto did not want to reject the offering. He folded his legs and sat on the ground with determination.

"You don't have to drink it, Tonto," the ranger said, reaching for the cup. Tonto leaned away, mildly offended, and Kemosabe sighed. "Suit yourself."

Tonto took another drink, this time a more careful sip. He managed not to spit it out, but gave a quick shake of his head at the sharp, bitter kick of it. The ranger covered his mouth, trying to hide his smile, but Tonto did not mind. It was good to see that his spirit was healing as fast as his body. Tonto got used to the taste after a few mouthfuls, and there was something about it that started to grow on him.

When he was finished, though, he set the cup aside and began work on the birds. He glanced at Kemosabe once in a while, but the ranger was very quiet. He'd settled himself against the saddle again, working on a second cup of coffee. Not to sleep, or even really to rest, but just to get comfortable. He held one of the badges of the Texas Rangers in his hand, his thumb absently moving over its smooth surface. He could not wear it before Cavendish was captured, but his eyes were far away. Tonto did not think he was remembering... there was a cunning edge to the expression that made him think the ranger was _planning_. Tonto wished he knew what he was thinking, but smiled to himself.

Whatever it was, the Cavendish gang did not stand a chance.

Tonto skewered the birds and set them above the fire. They would take a little while to cook, and his stomach was already complaining about the light breakfast. He waited until the afternoon meal was ready before disturbing Kemosabe, handing him a plate. The ranger looked surprised, as though he's lost track of time, but thanked Tonto. But he was still preoccupied as they ate.

Tonto began to grow restless. He did not want to stay in the cave, but he didn't want to leave, either. There was nothing for him to do, and the uneasy feeling had spread from his stomach into his chest. His attention returned to Kemosabe, as it had a tendency to keep doing with more frequency, and he picked up the nearly empty medical kit. The ranger looked up from his thoughts when Tonto sat down in front of him, and did not object when he examined the head wound.

It still needed some time, but was essentially superficial now. He dabbed some of the salve on it, not because it really needed it but because it would help the inevitable scar. He didn't think Kemosabe was a vain man, but scars were identifying features. He smiled, pleased. "There, face wound all healed now."

The ranger met his eyes, and something changed. As if the words were some sort of catalyst, Kemosabe sat up straighter. He curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist, then opened his hand again, flexing the muscles to test his arm. "Let me have the mask."

A sense of anticipation curled around Tonto's heart as he obeyed, handing him the strip of black cloth. Kemosabe wrapped it around his eyes, shifting his face back and forth a couple times to settle it into place, and tied the back into a knot. "It fits perfectly – good job, Tonto."

Tonto rose as the ranger got stiffly to his feet. Kemosabe pressed a hand to his injured shoulder, flexing it a bit, but the bandages beneath had stayed in place. Tonto fetched the hat and held it out to him. "Here hat. Me wash in stream, dry in sun – make whiter."

The ranger took it, looking a little surprised. "Thanks, Tonto," he said as he ran his fingers over the brim.

Tonto waited for him to slip it onto his head before getting the gun belt. It was not the one he'd worn before but was plain leather, with only one holster, worn high on the hip in the way of the Texas Rangers to make drawing while in the saddle easier. The weapon was also nothing fancy, but Tonto had made certain it was cleaned, oiled, and in perfect working order. It was fully loaded, and the belt's ammunition loops stocked. "Here gun to kill bad men."

The ranger took it, strapping it about his waist as he spoke. "I'm not going to do any killing."

Tonto frowned. Kemosabe would certainly not be the first man to suffer more than physical wounds from surviving an experience like this, but he did not look as though he'd lost his nerve. His posture and demeanor shouted confidence and courage. "You not defend yourself?"

"Oh, I'll shoot if I have to," the ranger answered. "But I'll shoot to wound, not to kill. If a man must die, it's up to the law to decide that. Not the person behind a six shooter."

Tonto nodded. He had no problem with killing the Cavendish gang for what they'd done, but the ranger's way was better. The west needed law and order, not revenge. "That right, Kemosabe."

The ranger drew a slow breath and looked at him. "Well, there's just one more thing to be done."

Tonto thought everything was covered, and was plenty eager to go. "What that?"

"Dig another grave," he answered, and looked towards the row of wooden crosses. "Out there."

Kemosabe had just said he wasn't going to kill anyone, so Tonto tilted his head in confusion. "Who that for?"

"That'll be my grave."

There was a note of finality in his voice that Tonto found unsettling, but he did not argue as Kemosabe led the way. The ranger did not ask which marker belonged to his brother, so Tonto did not say. Together, they dug a sixth grave at the end of the row, piled rocks into it, and filled it back in. They used more rocks to outline the grave, as Tonto had done with the rest, and fashioned a matching cross made of branches.

"There," Tonto said, settling the last rock into place. "Just like others."

"That's good," the ranger said. His voice was very somber as he stared down at the grave, as though there really was some one buried there. Tonto supposed a part of Kemosabe's spirit would always remain here. "Only you, Tonto, know I'm alive. To the rest of the world I'm buried there... beside my brother and my friends. Forever."

Tonto looked at the graves. These men had ridden into this valley intent on stopping a murderous gang of outlaws, and had come to their end. They had all been checked, to confirm their deaths. Yet still, one man had survived. One man, determined to finish what the others had begun. "You all alone now," Tonto said, looking back at him. He began to doubt that one man alone could bring in the entire gang. "You last man. You lone ranger."

Kemosabe stared at the graves. "Yes, Tonto... I am a lone ranger."

Tonto had traveled the lands for many years. He had encountered many tribes, made many friends, but had been unable to stay in any one place for long. Always, his feet would grow restless and urge him to move on. He had not known what he searched for, only that he had not found it. Tonto had tried to help people, to repay some small portion of the debt he owed for his survival.

But the woes of his own people were too great for Tonto to help, not from within. What the government was doing was bad enough, but their plight was aggravated by lawless men. Men who provoked tribes into a war, so that they could 'legally' seize their lands. White men who painted their faces as the local tribe to raided trains, coaches, and farmhouses - and then stood by when the settlers sought retribution. Often, entire tribes were massacred for the actions of one frustrated renegade.

Tonto was not stupid, but he was not clever enough to outwit the outlaws of the west. He didn't understand them, did not know their ways. He'd tried to help white lawmen, but most would have nothing to do with him. He blinked as a flash of sunlight glinted off the metal hung from Kemosabe's neck, and suddenly Tonto's entire life fell into place.

Kemosabe _was_ clever enough.

He was strong and brave and cunning. He was kind and generous and fair. Tonto believed in his ideals, even if reality constantly fell short. Kemosabe had saved Tonto's life, and then buried his mother and sister. Now Tonto had saved his life, and buried his brother. They were bound together by fate and the idea of moving on from here, not at this man's side, was unbearable.

"Kemosabe..." he said slowly, but even as the words formed in his throat the rightness of them strengthened his resolve. "Me help you fight outlaw."

"But, Tonto..." the ranger began, looking up. It was harder to read his expressions behind the mask, but his eyes were filled with concern. "Don't you have a family? Anyone?"

This was not one of their boyhood games. Neither of them was foolish enough not to realize that the ranger's task was a dangerous one, and he would not risk leaving a child fatherless. It was natural of Kemosabe to have thought he'd settled down somewhere and made a family, but Tonto swallowed, for that was a painful memory.

"No," he answered simply. "Me lone like you. Me want law here, too," he added. "For _all_."

The ranger'e eyes narrowed as he gazed at him a long moment, as if recalculating plans and ideas as he considered the offer. Tonto was completely set on this. No matter what Kemosabe said, he would go with him or follow behind. "All right, Tonto. You'll be a lot of help." He smiled, and clapped a hand to Tonto's shoulder. "We'll ride together."

Tonto's chest swelled with pride. He could not, nor would he ever be able to describe the sense of purpose and hope his life had just gained. "Me glad, Kemosabe. Me fight good for you."

As if this promise was some sort of herald, a shot rang out through the canyon.

The ranger's weapon was drawn faster than anything Tonto had ever seen. He had no time to marvel over that, though. "Take cover, Tonto!" Kemosabe shouted, firing in the general direction of the sound with one hand and shoving Tonto behind the large rock next to them with the other.

Tonto drew his legs in as far as he could, trying to make room, as Kemosabe crouched beside him, but the rock was not large enough for both of them. It had not served as adequate protection the last time it was used as cover, and it would not do so now. They knelt back to back, limbs exposed. Tonto had his gun drawn now, but did not know where to fire. The ranger took a quick breath and leaned around the rock long enough to fire another shot before ducking back down again.

"That's Collins," he said tersely. "The man that led us into ambush."

They both jerked their heads down as a chunk of their shelter blew away in a spray of jagged pebbles. At first Tonto thought the outlaws must have returned, but there was only the one gunman. It made no sense to him for only Collins to be here. "Why him shoot?"

"Undoubtedly he's after your horse," the ranger said, pointing over at Scout. The horse was prancing nervously, unsaddled and unbridled, uncertain where to go. "Collins must have been deserted by the outlaws. He's probably been making his way to that vantage point for some time now."

Tonto risked a peek over the top of the rock, ducking back down instantly. Another shot rang out, but this one was far off target and threw up a clod of dirt several feet behind them. Tonto was not surprised, now that he'd gotten a look at him. All Tonto had been able to see was a brief glimpse of the man's head, but it looked to be wrapped in bandages made from clothing. His poor aim was the only reason they were still alive.

He was perched quite a ways above their cave, behind a rock on a ledge. A bigger rock than theirs. It was a good spot for an ambush, but it did not make much sense for an injured man to climb to such heights. "Why him go there, Kemosabe?"

"He knows the only way to get Scout is to kill us," the ranger answered. "He's well protected up there."

Tonto supposed he was right, but he could have thought of several much easier ways to have killed them by now if he was in Collin's place. Perhaps this man Collins just wasn't very smart. Whatever his reasons, they were effectively pinned down. "What we do now?"

"I'm going to keep him under cover while you run for Scout," Kemosabe said. "Take Scout into the cave. Collins won't be able to see you from there."

Tonto looked over at his horse. Ordinarily he would not fear for Scout's safety, particularly if the horse was the prize. But the man's aim was so bad Tonto feared Scout might become an accidental casualty. Tonto did not know how his friend intended to get to safety, but this was the only plan that had any chance of working. Scout did not know Kemosabe, and would not obey as readily. "Me do."

"I'll follow as soon as you're safe," the ranger assured him when Tonto hesitated. "All right – run!"

The ranger leaned around the rock and fired two shots as Tonto bolted from cover, then a third as Tonto whistled to Scout and slapped at his flanks to get him moving. The horse whinnied in alarm, but obediently ran ahead of Tonto into the cave. Tonto spun around as the distinctive crack of the rifle echoed off the rocky walls, but Kemosabe was already halfway to the entrance.

"Did you hit him?" Tonto asked hopefully.

"No Tonto, I didn't try," he answered. "We're going to capture him alive."

"That plenty hard – him in good spot."

"Yes," the ranger agreed slowly, thinking, as he pulled several rounds from the loops of his gun belt and reloaded. "But I have an idea how we can do it. You start up the cliff up that side," he said, gesturing with the gun. "First tie up Scout. I'll draw his fire from the other side of the rocks."

Tonto quickly slipped Scout's bridle over his head and then tied the reins to a large rock inside the cave. Kemosabe had already made his way to the other side of the cave. He gave Tonto a quick nod, then stepped out from under the rocky overhang and fired up at Collins. Tonto slipped out of the cave on the opposite side, and began climbing.

The ranger and Collins exchanged fire several times, and soon Tonto had climbed above Collins without being noticed. He inched closer, intending to jump down on him, but Collins stopped firing to reload the rifle just as a small river of lose rocks slid out from under Tonto's foot. Collins looked up, his eyes going wide, and swung the rifle around. Tonto's breath froze, for he was completely exposed against the cliff wall. At this range, even Collins could not miss.

Tonto flinched as a gun fired, but it was Collins who suddenly cried out. The rifle flew from his hands to crash up against the rocks before sliding most of the way down to the ground. Tonto looked down with relief, to where Kemosabe had abandoned his cover and stood out in the open in order to make that shot.

Collins backed up into the corner of his shelter, but he wasn't a threat now. If he'd had a second weapon he would surely have used it by now. At the bottom, Tonto saw the ranger start to make his way up the wall. His western boots were not suitable for climbing rocks and his feet kept slipping, but Tonto could see his determination. He stayed where he was, for it was only fitting that Kemosabe be the one to capture this traitor.

When he looked down again, however, Collins had managed to wrench a large rock loose from the cliff side. "Kemosabe! Look out!"

The ranger looked up as Collins strained to lift the heavy rock first to his chest, where he rested a moment, before lifting it above his head. "I'll get you, Ranger!" The ranger tucked himself in as close as he could to the rock wall, but he was still an easy target. Collins leaned forward to drop the rock over the edge, but suddenly lost his balance. He let out a shriek as he plummeted to the ground, right past the ranger.

Tonto leaned as far forward as he dared, anxious to check on his friend, and smiled when Kemosabe gave him a short wave. They both began to make their way back down, the ranger being extra cautious in case Collins had somehow survived the fall. But when Tonto got to them, he was standing silently over the body.

"Him dead, Kemosabe," Tonto said apologetically, knowing his friend did not want to kill even this man. "But me glad. Him deserve to die."

"No, Tonto," the ranger said quietly. "No one should have his life end like this."

Tonto looked at the twisted, broken man. Kemosabe had vowed to bring criminals in alive, and the first one they'd encountered lay dead at his feet. Tonto was convinced this man deserved his fate, but he could understand at least some of his friend's disappointment. But Kemosabe was not to blame for this man's death.

"Better him dead," Tonto said, changing tactics. "Like white parson say, this act of providence. Now no one know you still live."

The ranger frowned in thought. "Yes... that is true. A strange act of providence has protected my secret."

Tonto pulled his knife from its sheath. The sun could bleach the bones of this man after the vultures had picked them clean as far as he was concerned, but he knew what Kemosabe would want done. "Me dig grave for him."

"All right," the ranger answered as Tonto knelt on the ground and wedged his blade into the earth. "I'll get Scout ready for travel."

Tonto did not shirk his task and did it properly. By the time he was done, the ranger had their camp unpacked. He'd piled all the supplies, including the extra saddle and tack, onto Scout, and was leading him by the reins. Kemosabe gave Scout many pats and encouraging words, but the horse was reluctant to follow him and kept balking. The only reason he'd gone as far as he had was because he'd come to associate him with Tonto. As soon as he saw Tonto, the horse picked up his feet and walked eagerly. "All set Tonto?"

"Me ready," Tonto answered, wiping the dirt from his knife and sliding it into its sheath. "We go after rest of Cavendish gang now?"

Kemosabe nodded. "As soon as we can. But I've got to get a mount of some sort. We'll head off towards wild horse valley. Here, take Scout. C'mon, boy," he added to the horse as he passed over the reins.

Tonto looked up, automatically checking the weather, but the skies were clear. He was glad to be on the move again, and even gladder for the purposeful stride to his steps.

Cavendish and his gang had gained some time, but it would not be long now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note to Jodm:** The Lone Ranger only rides for as long as the stories continue to be told. It's a fun fandom to play in - feel free to join!

* * *

_"That a man should make the most of what equipment he has."_

* * *

Texas was the largest state in the union so far, larger than many entire countries across the ocean. It was home to a wide variety of terrain, most of it quite verdant. This stretch of land, however, was some of the flattest and most barren in all of Texas. Looking across the landscape, a man would see mostly rocks, cactus, and the occasional stand of trees that indicated water. Tonto knew of the valley they sought, but he was surprised Kemosabe did. No one would expect to find such a place here, and so far it was unknown and unmolested by the hunters of the west.

"Just look at it, Tonto," Kemosabe said with quiet awe.

It was as if a great hand had reached down from the heavens and scooped out a fistful of earth. It was a long, narrow ravine that dropped off suddenly from ground level and was not easily seen from afar. Whatever had happened here had cracked the very foundation of rock under the land, tapping the river than ran beneath it. Water burst from one end of the valley, flowed all the way through it, then disappeared underground again. They watched, standing at the top of the valley, as a small herd of wild horses grazed on the lush green grass below.

Mustangs.

Powerful, maneuverable, and hardy, these were the descendants of the Spanish horses brought to Mexico centuries ago. They were a mix of breeds, roaming free in a hard land, and nature had selected the fittest to survive. They were a range of colors; black, brown, tan. Some were a painted swirl like Tonto's Scout, and some were completely solid.

A large, equine head thrust between the two men's shoulders, wide nostrils flaring eagerly, and pushed them aside.

Tonto laughed, and patted the horse's neck as he pulled him back. "Scout smell valley!"

The ranger grinned, rubbing an affectionate hand over the animal's muzzle. "Yes, you've been very patient with us, Scout."

It was not far from where they had started, but it had taken them over two days to reach it on foot. The ranger had not been able to set as fast a pace as normal, but this did not seem to frustrate him. Tonto would have thought Kemosabe would be eager to go after Cavendish and his gang of outlaws, but his friend had spent most of the travel time deep in thought. In all of the two days, Kemosabe never removed the mask. Not even to sleep, not even to shave. Tonto did not question him.

"Come on, Tonto," the ranger said and led the way. "We can get down over there."

Tonto nodded and followed after him, laughing again as Scout tossed his head in annoyance at the plodding pace of his human companions. One end of the valley was deep and stopped abruptly at a rocky wall, but the other gradually sloped upward at an almost gentle gradient. They had nearly reached the bottom when the shrill scream of a horse reached them.

The ranger grabbed Tonto's arm and they stopped walking so abruptly that Scout nearly trod on their heels. Tonto looked at his friend, but Kemosabe was already running. Tonto hastily flung Scout's reins around a small tree to keep the horse from following them, then ran after him. The valley was oddly flat, with huge chunks of rock that looked out of place scattered randomly through it. As they rounded one of these boulders, they came upon a very large, very angry buffalo.

Surprised, they ducked down behind a rock – but the beast was not interested in them.

A fallen stallion lay on the ground, the crimson stain spreading from his side a stark contrast to the brilliant, solid white of his hide. His mane and tail were equally white, and blew in all directions as he struggled to rise. He gave a shriek of pain as more blood gushed from the wound, and fell back. The bison lowered its head, snorting its fury, and began a charge to deliver the final blow.

Tonto gave a startled jolt at the crack of a gun right beside him, echoing through the valley. The buffalo dropped in its tracks, falling over its own hooves to skid to a halt only a few feet from the horse.

Tonto looked at the ranger in surprise. "You hit him, Kemosabe."

"I hope it was soon enough, Tonto," the ranger said, holstering the weapon as he left the protection of the rock to approach the horse. The stallion was still fighting to rise, alarmed by this new, unknown threat.

Tonto split off from him, drawing his gun as he cautiously approached the buffalo. The animal was twitching feebly, but it had been shot directly in the eye. The skill displayed here was amazing – it was probably the only place that a handgun could fell such a large animal so quickly. Satisfied that it was no longer a threat, Tonto returned to the ranger's side.

He was stroking the horse's neck, and looked up as Tonto approached.

"Buffalo dying," Tonto said, and looked down at the horse. The animal's flanks were heaving, and the gash in his flank was still gushing blood. "Horse look bad," Tonto said, and made a small gesture with his weapon. It did not seem right to let the animal suffer. "Me shoot him?"

Kemosabe ran his hands through the horse's mane. "No, Tonto..." he said. "I'm going to try to pull him through." Tonto did not see how that would be possible, but he didn't argue. The horse suddenly lifted his head, trying again to get up, but collapsed. "Well, old fellow, you're in bad shape," Kemosabe said calmly, quietly. The horse's ears twitched in his direction as he lay panting. "Lot of bumps and bruises. Tonto," he continued, still keeping his voice low, "get some rags from the supplies and bring the canteen."

"Me do," Tonto replied, also speaking quietly. He moved carefully, making no sudden moves, as he slipped past the pair on the ground and headed back for Scout. Kemosabe had packed everything from the cave, including his bloodied clothing and the vests Tonto had taken from the fallen rangers. He'd helped Kemosabe wash them the next day when they set up camp near a stream, not really understanding why the ranger was keeping them. He'd thought it for sentiment, but the ranger had borrowed Tonto's knife and cut the garments into large, square sections. They would not make good bandages, but Tonto agreed they would be better than nothing.

Tonto led Scout back to what he was certain would be their campsite for a while, and handed over the cloth first and then both canteens. The water went quickly as Kemosabe washed out the wound. He handed the empty canteens back to Tonto, made a gesture toward the stream that ran down the center of the valley, and reached for a bandage. Tonto instantly obeyed, sprinting as fast as his feet would carry him, and was back within minutes. He made several trips back and forth, as neither the stream nor the horse could be moved, before Kemosabe had the wound cleaned out to his satisfaction. It did not look as bad once the blood was cleared away, but it was was a deep puncture wound.

Tonto fetched the mending kit when told to, and was instructed to make a fire to boil the thread and needle. As he worked, Tonto constantly looked over to where Kemosabe held the bandages pressed to the horse's side as if he was physically keeping the animal's spirit from leaving. Finally, everything was prepared and Tonto knelt beside the horse.

"All right, Tonto," the ranger said, "I need you to apply direct pressure right here." Tonto nodded as he placed his hands over top of Kemosabe's. The ranger slid his hands out, and Tonto pressed down. It was not directly on the wound, but slightly above it, slowing the flow of blood.

"Sorry, big fellow," Kemosabe said softly as he picked up the needle that Tonto had already threaded. "We don't have anything to make this easier for you."

Tonto had heard of the technique of sewing flesh, but he had never seen it done. He leaned forward, trying to watch. Kemosabe looked up, saw his interest, and shifted position so that Tonto could see better. The stallion twitched with the first stitch, but was too weak to protest more than that. The ranger explained what he was doing as he worked, speaking quietly and soothingly for the horse's benefit. By some miracle, the bison's horn had not struck any organs, nor broken any bone. The tools at hand were not suited to the task, but Kemosabe sewed each layer of torn muscle, one at a time, and used Tonto's knife to sever the thread before starting another layer. Last of all he stitched the skin together.

"Let up slowly," Kemosabe said.

Tonto did so, gradually lessening the pressure, but left the bandage in place.

"Well," the ranger said, and stroked the horse's nose. "That's the best we can do. It's up to you, now."

Tonto set up their campsite a short distance away, watching his friend all the while. Kemosabe kept talking, stroking the horse' neck, back, haunch. His voice was soft, and his hands very gentle. Tonto smiled quietly to himself as the horse relaxed and laid his head down. They let the horse rest for a couple hours, but that was as long as they dare let the heavy animal stay on his side. The stallion had regained some of his strength, and was more alert.

The ranger worked both hands under the horse's shoulder, and gave him a strong shove. The horse blinked, surprised, and lifted his head. "Easy," Kemosabe said when the horse let out a nervous, confused snort. "Easy, big fellow, on your feet," he coaxed. The stallion rolled, slowly gathering his legs under him. Tonto stood a little to the side, one hand kept loose and at the ready in case the horse should panic. A quick smack on the rump would distract him from attacking Kemosabe, if he got such a notion into his head. He watched as Kemosabe patted and stroked the injured horse's neck and throat and helped push as he finally managed to stand.

Tonto moved to stand beside the ranger, and the horse swayed unsteadily. They both hastily stepped back when the horse tossed his head, but the stallion looked from one to the other and began to back up slowly. Then he turned and walked away on wobbly legs. Now that the horse was standing, Tonto could see what Kemosabe had no doubt already recognized from the moment he'd laid eyes upon him.

The stallion was absolutely stunning.

He was fully grown but barely mature. He was tall and leggy, but also broad shouldered and powerfully muscled. The wind caught at the white mane and tail, blowing them to the side as he moved. Tonto could see now why Kemosabe wanted this horse.

Tonto's smile faded as the horse began to pick up speed. "Me get bridle and lariat," he said quickly, turning for their camp. "Him run away!"

"No..." the ranger said, stopping him with a hand on his chest without taking his eyes off the horse. "Wait, Tonto." Tonto looked back towards the horse, and they both watched as it circled back around to them. The stallion walked back and forth, tossing his head, as if torn with indecision.

The ranger's eyes glittered with admiration behind his mask. "I'd like that horse more than anything in the world... but if he wants to go, he should be free."

The stallion ran away a distance, then came back again.

"Him a beauty," Tonto said, watching him. The sun seemed to glow off his hide. "Like mountain with snow. Silver white."

"Silver..." the ranger said, testing the word on his tongue. He smiled slowly. "That would be a name for him. Here, Silver!" he called, raising his voice. The horse stopped his pacing, turning to look. "Come back, big fellow! C'mon, Silver – come back, big fellow."

The stallion ran off a bit, but then stopped and looked over his shoulder. He snorted when the ranger called to him again, and didn't return. But the peculiar predators were too fascinating to resist, and he did not run away.

"Me get bridle now," Tonto said, pleased. "Him come back."

But the ranger once again stopped him. "No, he wouldn't take a bit. I'll use a hackamore for the time being." He kept looking back to the motionless horse as he gathered up a coiled length of rope from their campsite, quickly fashioning it into a loose halter as he spoke. "It wont be as strange to his head as a bridle. There," he said, and looked towards the horse.

Tonto watched as Kemosabe slowly approached, never having seen anything quite like this before. The horse shifted his feet and tossed his head as Kemosabe got closer, but did not flee.

"Here, Silver," the ranger said quietly, his voice full of admiration, and held out the bridle for the animal to sniff. The rope smelled of Scout and men, and the horse took several whiffs of it before lifting his head to take a bit of it into his mouth. It was not food that the human was offering, however, and he spat it back out again.

"If you only knew how we need you," Kemosabe said very softly.

Tonto's chest tightened at the words and the tone. Both of the stallion's ears faced the ranger fully, listening intently, for the horse was not immune either. There was such purpose in that voice, a promise that transcended language, both human and animal. It was a call that could not be denied.

"Whoa big fellow, ready?" the ranger asked and smiled as the stallion allowed him to loop the course rope over the sensitive skin of his face. "We're going to do a lot of riding together," he continued soothingly, running his hands down the horse's muzzle and nose to distract him from the feel of the rope. "We're gonna be pals, aren't we, Silver?"

The white horse tossed his head, not really liking the bridle, but not refusing it. The ranger remained with Silver for a little while, offering the occasional pat while the horse got used to the halter. When he eventually walked away, Silver calmly began to graze on the nearby grass. With the acceptance of the man came the acceptance of the name Silver, and everything that would one day be associated with it.

"There's Arabian in him, Tonto," Kemosabe said, joining Tonto near the fire.

Tonto sat cross-legged on the ground, sharpening his knife on a small whetstone he carried in his saddlebag for the purpose. He gestured with the blade and smiled. "Indian pony, too."

"And Quarter horse," the ranger added, studying the lines of the animal as he moved. Silver looked up from grazing and regarded the two men. He swished his long white tail in a glowing streamer and curved his neck coyly at them. Kemosabe laughed. "Yes, Silver – we're admiring you!"

Tonto smiled again at the two of them, then drew the knife across the stone a final time. He tilted it to check the edge, and gave a little nod of satisfaction. Silver would not be strong enough to travel for some time, which meant they would be in this valley for a little while. They'd been living off the land since they'd left the cave but that was time consuming. When they did finally leave the valley of horses to go after Cavendish, it would be better if they could travel as swiftly as possible and Tonto considered the buffalo the perfect solution.

The ranger sighed. "It's a shame I had to shoot him. They're getting too rare from over hunting."

"Indian way better," Tonto observed as he got to his feet and headed over to the buffalo. "Take only what need." He paused, looking at his friend as he got up to follow. "Silver need."

Kemosabe tilted his head at him with a sad little smile. "If only everyone were as wise."

The ranger stood beside him and watched with respectful curiosity as Tonto waved a hand over the buffalo, offering his people's prayer of thanks for the animal's sacrifice that they might live. He didn't know why this buffalo had been traveling alone, away from any herd, and in this particular valley. He didn't know what had incited a battle between bison and horse just as two men came down the path. Tonto looked over at Silver, who had returned to grazing nearby. The horse looked up, sensing his eyes, and nickered. Silver's wounds had been severe enough for the horse to fear death, but just barely within Kemosabe's skill and means to heal. Tonto did not think the stallion would have accepted them nearly as swiftly without the buffalo.

"What are you thinking, Tonto?"

Tonto looked at him, startled out of his thoughts. "Me think, Kemosabe..." he said slowly, uncertainly. "... you have much act of providence."

The ranger's eyebrows drew together, and he glanced up at the sky before looking toward Silver. "It does seem an unlikely chain of events..."

Tonto looked upwards as well, and then his eyes widened. The day was nearly done, with only a few hours of light left to work with. If he did not hurry, much of the buffalo would go to waste. As it was, it had already been too long to get the best quality from the hide and meat. He adjusted the sturdy knife in his hand as he knelt, but looked over when Kemosabe crouched beside him as if he meant to help.

"Me do, Kemosabe," Tonto said. When his friend frowned, opening his mouth to object, Tonto smiled. "Your turn make dinner. Maybe move camp away, close to water." It would have been much more practical to set up the fire where the bison had fallen, but it was not a very good campsite otherwise.

"All right..." the ranger said, still looking as though he did not think it was a fair deal.

He was right, of course. Tending to the carcass was hard, messy work. But it was better, in Tonto's opinion, for Kemosabe to rest after their journey to this valley. The ranger hid it well, but no man could fully recover from such injuries in only a few days even with the powerful combination of white man's medicine and Potawatomi herbs. Tonto was convinced that it was Kemosabe's strength of spirit that was speeding his healing the most. In any case, there was only the one knife between the two of them.

Tonto began work on the buffalo while the ranger put out the fire and broke up the camp. He loaded everything once again upon Scout, then led the horse deeper into the more fertile stretch of land at the heart of the valley. Scout went willingly, having grown to trust the ranger over the past couple days, and also being very eager for the water and sweet grass. Tonto looked over to Silver when Kemosabe called. The stallion lifted his head, seemed to think about it, and then ambled after him.

He cut away as much of the bison as he thought they could eat or preserve and made a point to salvage the hide, horns, and tendons. The sun was nearly setting by the time Tonto was done. He fashioned a crude travois from two long branches and several smaller, leafy ones, and piled the fruits of his labor onto it before heading down into the valley to get Scout and some rope.

Kemosabe had been busy. He'd chosen a spot on the shore of the stream where a small tree had fallen. This served well as a bench, which the ranger was sitting on as he unbraided a short length of rope. There were many tall tripod shaped drying racks, made of small branches and sticks tied with the thinner, separated strands of rope. Beneath each one was a bundle of kindling, waiting to be lit. The campfire was a proper cooking setup, fit for a long stay, with Tonto's little pot already hanging from the makeshift wooden spit. A stack of firewood was piled nearby, with their small axe leaning against it.

Tonto smiled and inhaled deeply; he'd grown quite fond of coffee. He and Scout went back to the bison, using what remained of the rope to tie the travois to Scout's saddle, and there was a steaming cup waiting for him by the time they dragged it into the camp. Tonto freed the horse, giving him a friendly pat of thanks, before sending him off to join Silver.

He returned his saddle to its place at the head of his bedroll, and Kemosabe handed him the cup as Tonto sat down heavily on the log beside him. "It's going to be a long night," the ranger remarked when Tonto checked the sky. The sun was slipping past the rocky lip of the canyon, already casting half the valley in shadow. "Finish that and go wash up," he added. "I'll get started. Where's your knife?"

Tonto nodded with a low hum and pointed at the travois. He took another sip as he watched Kemosabe look over the pile of meat and hide until he found the bloody knife.

"You plan to keep the hide?" the ranger asked as he took the knife to the water and crouched to rinse it off.

Tonto nodded. "Buffalo hide and horns good for trade."

Kemosabe shook his head as he returned to the travois. "Money won't be a problem."

Tonto was not a greedy man, and rarely had any real use for money. Despite this, however, he'd found it nearly impossible to live in the white man's world without it. He wondered what Kemosabe meant by the remark, thought about asking, but decided against it.

Kemosabe found the meat that had been set aside from the rest and brought it to the fireside. Tonto had chosen mostly lean cuts from the bison, because they would dry better, but not all of it. They would eat well tonight and tomorrow. Tonto's stomach let out a sudden, loud growl, unhappy with just the coffee, and he looked down at it in annoyance.

Kemosabe smiled and sat down on the log. "Oh, I found some of those potato-ish things you like," he said, and pointed at a handful of them baking on the rocks that circled the campfire. They were small, lumpy things, about fist-sized. "They grow all around, probably the entire valley."

Tonto's stomach gave another embarrassing rumble, and he set the half-full cup of coffee on one of the rocks that circled the fire. "Me wash now."

"All right, Tonto," the ranger replied, still smiling as Tonto went over to his saddle.

They had already fallen into a few routines in the travel from the cave to this valley. The first night, Kemosabe had pitched camp while Tonto foraged for their dinner. The ranger had set out their bedrolls side by side, continuing the practice Tonto had started in the cave, and somewhere along the way it had become an unspoken habit. Tonto sighed wearily, knowing that there would be no sleep tonight, as he rummaged through his saddlebag for his extra clothing.

Kemosabe was a very clean person, nearly obsessively so by Tonto's standards. He washed every evening when they camped, and shaved every morning. Tonto had never thought of himself as being particularly dirty, but he was starting to feel downright grubby in comparison. He glanced upwards again, and judged by the streaking colors of the fading sunset that he had perhaps fifteen minutes before nightfall. The stream was swift flowing and looked to be deep enough, so Tonto decided to make a full job of washing and fetched Kemosabe's bar of soap as well.

He kicked off his moccasins before stripping out of his sweat soaked, blood splattered buckskins and left them in a pile on the pebbled shore. He would clean them tomorrow, when the sun was up. He pulled the headband off, undid the bindings holding his hair in place, and rubbed his hands through the thick, glossy black mass until it fell freely to his shoulders. The water was bitingly cold around his ankles as he stepped into the stream, and he resolved to be as quick as possible.

He looked over his shoulder when Kemosabe called his name. The ranger was holding his knife up to catch the last rays of light, tilting the blade to examine it, before turning to look at him. "Where did—?" he broke off abruptly, his eyes going wide, before jerking his head to the side. "Sorry."

Tonto made a confused noise, until he remembered that Kemosabe's people considered it, for the most part, indecent to expose much skin. Maybe that was why they were so pale. He didn't know how they could stand being so smothered, but he'd accepted a long time ago that it was just something they did. He'd taken to the custom himself, to a much lesser degree, in recent years. He shrugged, and waded into the stream. He scrubbed down completely, including his hair, in a minimal of time and was back out within minutes.

He wrung the worst of the water out of his hair then snatched up his bedroll and used it to dry off. His teeth were chattering, and his fingers felt numb as he quickly dressed. Ordinarily, Tonto would remove his gun belt and moccasins to sleep. But Kemosabe did not. With the exception of his hat, which he kept on the ground at his side, the man slept fully clothed, armed, and masked, as if he expected trouble at any second.

The caution was enough to make Tonto feel a little paranoid, but he chose to do the same. Twice now, on their way to this valley, he'd been woken at night by the ranger muttering in his sleep. It was not unusual, all things considered, for bad dreams to plague Kemosabe after what had happened. He would snap out of it, suddenly awake, and Tonto would close his eyes without mentioning it.

If it made Kemosabe feel better to sleep fully prepared, Tonto could hardly hold it against him. He buckled the belt about his waist and collected his moccasins from the water's edge.

Kemosabe had returned to the log and looked up from his task of cutting a large chunk of bison flesh into thin strips as Tonto returned. The ranger must have dipped into Tonto's dwindling supply of herbs, because already the camp smelled of spiced roasted meat and tubers. Tonto's belly gave another rumble as he folded his legs and sat on the ground as close to the welcome heat of the fire as he safely could.

"Water very cold," he warned his friend unhappily, picking up the cup of coffee he had left by the fireside. He pushed his hair out of his face to take a hearty swallow; it had cooled, but was still warm enough to be felt as it made its way down.

The ranger added the strip of meat to a small pile on a plate at his side, then looked over at the stream. "It's an underground spring," he said. "Doesn't come up long enough to warm before going back underground over there."

Tonto gave a little grunt of acknowledgement but was too tired, cold, and hungry at the moment to really care. The ranger continued to slice the meat, readying it for drying, while Tonto sipped from his cup and waited for the shivering to subside. The coffee had taken away the immediate edge, but the sun had fully set by the time his muscles started to relax from the flames against his back. He combed out his hair, but left it loose to dry, and pulled on a pair of soft woolen socks.

"I don't think I've ever seen an Indian wear socks with moccasins," the ranger commented, dropping another strip of meat onto the plate.

Tonto wiggled his toes, then slid them into his shoes. "White man have many bad idea about clothes," he said, and grinned. "This not one."

Kemosabe chuckled, more a snort than a laugh, and passed the plate to him. "Here."

Tonto began hanging the strips over the drying racks and lit the small, smoky fires while the ranger drafted their second dinner plate and continued to cut the meat. The sun would do most of the work over the next couple days, but for this first night they had to keep the fires constantly tended so that the smoke would ward off insects. The jerky would have been better if they'd been able to cure it first, or at least season it, but it would serve them well.

They fell into a rhythm and worked in companionable silence for some time, taking a break only to eat dinner. This Tonto relished, for he possessed a very hearty appetite and the past several days had been mostly preserved foods or small game. When the meat was all cut and hung to dry, Tonto set about rendering the fat he'd gathered while Kemosabe kept the fires fed. It was a slow process, as the travel pot was not suited to the task and could only do small quantities at a time, but it would be worth the effort.

Dawn was still a few hours away when Tonto's energy began to flag in spite of the coffee. He leaned against the log, close enough to the main camp fire to stir the pot occasionally, and yawned. It was easier to keep awake when his hands were busy, but there wasn't much left to do now but wait.

Despite Tonto's best intentions, the soft crackling of the fires and the babble of the stream lulled him to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** My apologies for the delay. The original episodes focused mainly on the plot, and skipped the best parts of the story (in my opinion) by using narrative. Said narration gave us a minimum of 3 days in this valley, and that unaccounted for time felt like a blank canvas to me in which to do a great deal of character building before the adventure of the story begins. I also needed to do a ton of research, since I know next to nothing about medicine, horses, or making jerky and I wanted to make this scrawling a bit more realistic than the show's heavy use of TV magic. (The entire genre is a bit alien to me, compared to my usual science fiction.) Try as I might, I could not get this chapter to work quite the way I wanted. In the end, I had to revise the outline and break it differently – the previous chapter has been nearly doubled. Even so, this one is exceptionaly long with quite a lot crammed into it. I may end up breaking it differently as well. I am trying to keep this scrawling to a 10 chapter outline, however, for the Creed. Those of you keeping tabs on this little scrawling, please let me know if it gets too detailed to the point of tedium – and some of it shall end up on the cutting room floor. Also please let me know if anything is too unrealistic, since most of it is derived from Google (hallowed be thy name) rather than actual experience.

* * *

_"That 'This government, of the people, by the people and for the people' shall live always."_

Tonto woke with a start, blinking in confusion at the sun in his face.

"Good morning, Tonto."

Tonto tiredly rubbed the heel of one hand into his eye, trying to wake up. His back complained about the position he'd been in, propped up against the log, as he sat up straighter. He looked down as Kemosabe's blanket slid off his shoulder. His own had been left in a damp wad in his hurry to get to the fire, and was now spread out to dry over his saddle. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, and then he looked over at the ranger with embarrassment. "Me sorry, Kemosabe."

His friend was standing over the fire, holding a dripping kettle freshly filled with water from the stream. He gave a little shake of his head and smiled. "You worked very hard yesterday."

Tonto did not consider it reason enough, but what was done was done. He climbed to his feet and stretched, shaking his arms a bit to get the blood flowing again. He must have slept very soundly and not moved at all to be so stiff. He watched as Kemosabe set the kettle at the edge of the fire to percolate and frowned. "You sleep now, Kemosabe. Me watch fires."

The ranger glanced at him, and shook his head. "Maybe later. I want to start early with Silver."

Tonto's frown deepened, but he did not wish to argue with his friend. Instead, he used his knife to cut one of the potatoes in half, then wrapped a thick slice of left over roasted bison around it and handed it to Kemosabe. The ranger took it with a nod of thanks as Tonto made another roll for himself. He looked around as he ate, considering what was to be done that day, and decided the first chore would be gathering more kindling since their supply was getting very low.

The entire camp smelled of coffee when he returned, and he made short work of refreshing the smoky fires beneath the drying racks. Tonto coughed in surprise when he took a sip from the cup Kemosabe handed him, for it was an exceptionally strong brew. The ranger gave a low, tired laugh as he headed away toward the stream and added a bit of water to dilute it.

His buckskins were still there, waiting to be tended to, and Tonto decided this would be his next task of the day. By sheer coincidence both his outfits were fairly new and unstained; he would make special effort to keep them that way. He gathered everything up and brought it back to camp, leaving them and the cup beside the fire as he went to his saddlebags for fresh leather bindings. He bound his hair in his customary manner, a habit he had acquired from one of the plains tribes, and returned to the campfire with Scout's brush.

Kemosabe was still sitting on the log, drinking the sludge he called coffee, and watched as he settled himself cross-legged on the ground and began his work. It would take a little while to brush and rub the dried sweat and grime from the hide in the same manner as one would a horse, before he would wash it in the stream.

"Cotton is easier to clean, you know," Kemosabe suggested casually after a little while. Tonto looked up, and the ranger made a small gesture with his cup. "Or wool."

This was true, but Tonto frowned and looked away without reply. He did not know the words to describe the feeling that curled around his heart, making his chest feel tight. He stared down at the shirt in his hands and gently rubbed his fingers over the soft suede. Many of the things white men made were stronger, more durable, or easier to maintain than what Tonto had grown up with. Even the most skilled shaman could not work the miracles that white man's medicines and tools could. Things such as pocket watches and locomotives were like magic.

These things gave them great power, but the price of that power had distanced them. They gave less consideration to nature the more they learned to bend it to their will. They could not feel the earth beneath their feet in those rigid boots, they could not feel the wind and sun beneath their layers of clothing. They blocked out the very spirit of the living world, a spirit that connected all things, and then wondered why so many of them felt sad and alone even when surrounded by their brethren in their huge, sprawling cities.

Even so, Tonto had long ago realized that he could do his people the most good from outside the reservations and the white man's world fascinated him. He spoke their language and understood their religion. He had adopted the use of saddles and horseshoes. He'd taken up their guns and admired the craftsmanship of their knives. He was eager to learn any of their medicine that they would teach. Tonto's fingers curled into the thin, supple hide in his hands. But this... this was not something he could ever sacrifice. He walked among them, but any who saw him instantly knew exactly who and what he was. He knew his friend had meant no harm, but how could he explain his sadness at the simple remark?

A hand closed over his shoulder, and Tonto looked up again in surprise. Kemosabe was kneeling beside him, and the black mask did nothing to hide his apology. "That was thoughtless of me, Tonto. You have every right to be proud of your people. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise."

It was as if those pale blue eyes could stare straight into his soul and read every thought he held in his mind. So Tonto did not speak, and instead gave the man a little smile. There was kindness and sympathy in the small curve of Kemosabe's mouth as he gave Tonto's shoulder a squeeze before standing up.

Tonto watched silently as Kemosabe scooped up the wide-brimmed white hat and dropped it onto his head. He picked up the simple, loosely made halter of rope and called to Silver. The horse came willingly and the ranger smiled as he dug his fingers into some of the harder to reach places on the animal's neck and back to reward him before leading the way into the open field that spread down the valley along the shore of the stream. The hackamore was again accepted, and thus began Silver's training.

Tonto finished his laundry and tended to the jerky for the rest of the day while his friend began basic groundwork exercises with Silver. The horse tired easily, and Kemosabe checked the stitches constantly. He gave the horse many breaks to rest, taking a couple short naps himself, but Silver would come back after a quick graze and watering. Tonto had never seen such an attentive, eager to please horse in all his life. But then, Tonto had also never seen a man so devoted. Kemosabe made a game of it, lavishing the animal with praise, scratches, and pettings for every small accomplishment. For his part, Silver could not seem to get enough of the attention.

The meat had dried enough by dusk that it no longer needed to be guarded against insects, so Tonto let the little fires go cold. He was sitting on the log by the campfire, sharpening his knife, when the ranger decided to call it a day and head for the stream for his evening wash.

"Silver do well, Kemosabe," Tonto commented when he sat on the log beside him with a tired sigh. Tonto put down his knife and whetstone to pick up a plate.

"I think he's the smartest horse I've ever met, Tonto," the ranger replied. His voice was full of admiration, and Tonto did not have to look away from his task of filling the plate from the pot to know that his friend was watching Silver. The ranger had been very intent on his goal for the day, and only taken time for a quick lunch during one of Silver's breaks. Tonto ladled a very generous portion of the thick, rich stew he'd made with the last of the roasted bison onto the plate. The rest of the tubers had gone into it, as well as some wild onion he'd found growing nearby.

The ranger looked away from the horse when Tonto handed the plate to him, and took a deep breath. "That smells amazing."

Tonto nodded as he filled his own plate. They watched the sun set as they ate, both lost in thought. Tonto supposed his friend was planning on what he'd teach Silver next. For himself, Tonto intended to forage tomorrow while the ranger worked with the horse. He had left a bit of stew in the pot for their breakfast, but he knew this lush valley and there were many good things ready for harvesting at this time of year. They would be living off of travel rations soon enough.

Tonto had ranged from north to south, encountering and befriending many tribes along the way. Some he would winter with, and some he would stay only a day or so. It helped that he did not come empty-handed. Tonto always made sure to bring what was seen as a wealth of hides, dried foods, and herbs. Many would rather he brought them guns and ammunition, but he was determined to help them keep peace. Most importantly, Tonto brought news. Most tribes were confined to reservations now, and he brought news of other tribes, news from the settlers.

Ordinarily, this time of year, Tonto would be busy hunting, gathering, and preserving. He'd been considering a visit to a small Comanche band, here in Texas. If he did, it would be more important than any other time that he come bearing gifts. He generally avoided them, because the Comanche were not inclined towards peace and had been at war with nearly every tribe at one time or another. But this band was small and tired, and looked to be fleeing the state. Tonto wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish. He had never set out with any sort of plan or intent... just obeyed the urge of his feet to move on, and the urge of his heart to help where he could.

He looked over as Kemosabe stood and headed toward the stream, collecting Tonto's plate along the way, and rinsed them off. He returned, setting them on a rock at the edge of the fire, and gave Tonto a little nod as he bedded down for the night. Full bellies and the comforting, cheerful warmth of the fire was making them both drowsy, so Tonto thought it was an excellent notion to bank the fire and turn in early.

He turned his head to look at Kemosabe, but the man was already breathing in the steady, deep rhythm of sleep. Tonto did not think things would ever be ordinary again. In fact, he was certain his entire life would never be the same. These thoughts were oddly reassuring as Tonto settled onto his side. The leather sheath of his knife dug into his hip, but he was getting used to it and was soon fast asleep.

Tonto slept very soundly, and did not wake with the sun as he usually did. He blinked in surprise when he looked at the sky, for dawn had passed several hours ago. His face turned automatically toward the sound of distant laughter, and he saw that Kemosabe and Silver were already at work in the grassy field. The stallion was healing quickly, and was in very lively spirits. He pranced happily, pleased at the praise for whatever he'd just done. Tonto watched for a little while, smiling. They had come here to find a mount before going after Cavendish and his gang of outlaws, but Silver was good for Kemosabe in many ways.

He sighed and the smile faded. By the time the horse was healed and trained, Cavendish's trail would be stone cold. If Kemosabe had asked for Scout, as they stood together beside those graves in the canyon, Tonto would have handed over the reins without a moment's regret. He was certain, however, that the ranger had already been intending to come to this valley before Tonto had asked to join him. He knew Kemosabe had some plan, and he wished he knew what it was.

Tonto's stomach interrupted his musings with a growl and he decided it was time to get started on the day. The kettle had been left at the edge of the fire to keep warm, and Tonto was pleasantly surprised to find a very mild brew that had been seasoned with something sweet. Kemosabe had left half the stew in the pot, so Tonto finished it off. It seemed a crime to hurry with the coffee, however. He brought the entire kettle down to the stream with him, knowing Kemosabe would not care for it. He used his knife to cut down several cattails and reeds, and took his time enjoying the coffee while he sat at the water's edge and wove a couple simple baskets.

The ranger and Silver were still working in the field when Tonto headed out towards them, carrying the baskets under one arm. There was a blanket draped over the horse's back, and Tonto began to suspect that Kemosabe intended to introduce the saddle to Silver today.

"Ta-i, Tonto," his friend said as he drew near.

Tonto smiled, always pleased to hear the simple greeting. "Ta-i, Kemosabe," he answered and glanced up at the sky. "You work with Silver much already today," he said. "Why you not wake me?"

The ranger sighed, absently stroking Silver's silky white mane. An odd expression flitted across his face, but the mask and the shadow of the hat made it hard to tell for certain. Tonto thought perhaps he'd looked a little guilty, but that seemed unlikely as there was no possible reason. "Tonto," Kemosabe said, "you are the least laziest man I have ever met. If you sleep away half the morning, it would only be because you need it."

Tonto hummed a low, reluctant tone of agreement, for he supposed Kemosabe must be right. He did feel more rested and relaxed today than he had in all the time since he'd first looked up to see buzzards circling above a small canyon several days ago. Kemosabe looked away, and Tonto caught a brief glimpse of that same expression.

"Are you after anything in particular?" the ranger asked, gesturing at the baskets.

Tonto decided to let it go, and looked down at the baskets. They were hardly works of art, misshapen and crudely crafted from green reeds without any of the preparation that was needed for a more durable product, but they would serve their purpose. "Many berries here now," he answered, waving a hand in the general direction of the trees at the edge of the clearing. "Herbs and flowers for medicine."

Kemosabe smiled. "And potatoes."

They were not really potatoes, but Tonto didn't know the English word for them so he nodded. He did have a special fondness for the starchy tubers and didn't come across them very often. He intended to fill one entire basket full to take with them when they left. He glanced up at the sky again, noting that he'd already lost another hour to basket weaving. Many of the native languages did not have a term for 'good bye', as it was felt to be far too permanent a saying. "Me go now," he said simply, and headed towards the woods.

"Have fun," Kemosabe called after him.

Tonto glanced back at him over his shoulder with a little wave, but did not know why the ranger should think his chore would be fun. As it turned out, Kemosabe was right. The forest was fairly young, as forests went, with the largest tree being no bigger around than his waist and the canopy thin enough to allow bright patches of sun to shine through to the ground in dappled patterns. The morning air was cool, kept so by the stream, and smelled of wet leaves. Tonto had not realized how long it had been since he'd been in a forest of any kind while travelling the prairie, and it was very refreshing.

It was not a large valley, and the woods only took up a small portion of one end, but there were small groves of fruit and nut trees mixed into the trees, though they would not be in harvest for a couple months. He'd been here before and knew there were several patches of earth that held a wide variety of herbs growing conveniently together. Tonto thought people must have lived in this valley at some point, but they were long gone now. He spotted a thick tangle of vines, and knelt to gather its bounty.

Tonto considered himself a simple man, one not generally given to deep introspection, but it was uncomplicated work and his thoughts wandered. Unlike Kemosabe, Tonto did not give great thought to the future. He believed that everything was connected to everything else – everything was effected by everything else. There was a force that moved the spirit from one place to another, and there were sturdy rocks that remained virtually unmovable within that force. Tonto was neither of these things, and preferred to let the ripples, tides, and eddies of the spirit that flowed all around guide his feet.

The energy of Kemosabe's spirit was like a raging whirlpool, and Tonto was drawn to it with inescapable force. The events of Tonto's life had made him strong enough to swim with the flow, rather than be pulled into the vortex, and he had no fear of it. It occurred to Tonto that the ranger needed this from him more than anything else.

There were two lifetimes of coincidences in play coming together in the past few days. He did not question his choice to join Kemosabe, but he had not stopped to give it proper thought, either. Tonto smiled, for there was something very satisfying about knowing, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that you were doing something truly worthwhile. That the path you were on was the only right course.

His heart full of happiness and his basket full of berries, Tonto moved on to an overgrown thicket of herbs. He piled large bunches of different kinds atop the berries, knowing both would take up much less space once they were dried. He rarely spared storage space in his saddlebags for plants that had little value other than seasoning, but today he did. There were two horses now to carry things, and Kemosabe preferred more variety than Tonto usually bothered with. Last of all he collected as many of the tubers as would fit in the remaining basket, and plenty of wild onion as well. All together it was quite a heavy bounty and he was starting to wish he'd brought Scout along by the time he returned well after midday.

Kemosabe met him halfway across the field and relieved him of the 'potatoes' with a grin. Tonto did not know what the man found so amusing, but he smiled back with good-natured humor as they walked. The freshest, greenest grass was to be found along the shores of the stream, and this was were Silver and Scout were contentedly grazing. Both looked up as the two men returned to camp, and Silver's ears canted forward as if he expected to be summoned.

"I think we're ready, Tonto," Kemosabe said as he set the basket on the ground.

Tonto cast a resigned glance at the baskets, for breakfast had been some time ago, but his friend was practically vibrating with anticipation. Silver came quickly when called, seemingly every bit as excited, and soon Tonto too forgot all about his stomach in the contagious mood as the ranger picked up the saddle and held it against his chest. Silver sniffed at it, but this was a practice they had done several times already.

"Tonto," Kemsobe said, and passed him the saddle.

The ranger held Silver's head, talking calmly to the horse, while Tonto carefully slid the saddle onto his back. Silver shied away nervously, but Kemosabe had already spent several hours leaning on the horse from both sides to get him used to the idea. The ranger held up a hand, and Tonto waited patiently while he smiled and praised the stallion. At a gesture, Tonto cinched the buckle around the horse's belly. He did so slowly, making sure the saddle was firmly in place but not too tight.

Silver did not like this.

This was how a large cat would bring down a horse, and the instinct to get it off _now_ was powerful. Both men stepped back as the horse snorted and tossed his head. Tonto looked to his friend, but Kemosabe waved a hand to let the horse have his head. So they watched from a safe distance as Silver trotted around, stamping his feet and trying to buck the weight from his back. But the horse was not recovered from his ordeal with the buffalo, and this did not keep up for long before he hung his head in defeat.

"Silver," Kemosabe called. The horse came, but he trudged unhappily. The ranger showered Silver with praise, scratching all around the troublesome saddle. He gave a nod to Tonto, who joined in so that the horse was scratched and petted from both sides. The ranger produced a handful of white sugar cubes from his pocket and held one out to the horse in the flat palm of his hand. "Don't get used to these," he said with a grin as Silver delightedly lapped it up. Before long, Silver's spirits had raised and the ranger allowed him to join Scout near the stream.

"It isn't a proper fit," Kemosabe said, watching them. "I'll want one made specially for him, but it will do for now."

Tonto nodded in agreement, for the saddle had belonged to a smaller horse. He smiled as Scout whickered to Silver. Silver stomped his foot, but the older, more experienced paint just shook his mane with a snort and lowered his head to the lush grass at his feet. Silver flicked his tail irritably at the saddle, but then did the same. "Them talk to each other," Tonto said.

The ranger smiled, but his eyes were already focused far away.

Tonto was coming to recognize the expression, and slipped away to let him consider the future. He tended to the meals and various other camp chores while Kemosabe continued to work with Silver. He removed the saddle and put it back on several times at random intervals, letting the stallion get used to the action from both sides. The ranger joined him for a while and helped spread the berries and plants onto a handful of simple reed mats that Tonto had woven, but did not stay for long.

Tonto had set aside a small pile of straggly, weedy looking plants by the time the ranger stopped by the fire again. "Give to Silver," Tonto said. "Plenty good medicine."

He did so without question or hesitation, stroking Silver's muzzle while the horse ate from his hand. Then they were back in the field, repeating yesterday's exercises with and without the saddle. There was such a determined air about the man, and the horse responded with rapt attention. By the time the sun was setting, Silver did not even bother to look up from grazing when the ranger reached under his belly to buckle the saddle into place.

Kemosabe was very quiet as they gathered around the campfire at the end of the day. They ate in silence and Tonto settled into his bedroll without conversation. He watched his friend for a little while, wondering what he was seeing. Kemosabe was still staring into the fire when Tonto fell asleep, and he woke just before dawn to the aroma of fresh coffee.

The ranger had already gone through his morning ritual of shaving and seemed content to sip at his coffee as he watched Silver, so Tonto made breakfast. He plucked a couple pieces of the drying meat from the nearest rack, cut them up, and fried them in a bit of the rendered fat with slices of baked tuber from last night's dinner and some fresh herbs.

The ranger ate absently at first, lost in his own thoughts, but then looked down at his plate. "You're a good cook, Tonto," he said as thanks.

Tonto smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. "Very simple, Kemosabe – not same food you eat."

"There's a lot to be said for simplicity," Kemosabe said, getting to his feet. "Today is a big day," he added, collecting Tonto's empty plate and taking them both down to the stream. Once rinsed, he set them down on a rock near the fire as was becoming his habit, then picked up his saddle. Tonto hastily swallowed the last of his coffee as Kemosabe gave him a little gesture to follow.

"Silver!" the ranger called as they walked towards the horses. The pair generally kept near each other as they grazed. Scout looked up as Silver trotted away, but did not follow. Silver curved his neck around to give the man a playful nudge as he strapped the saddle into place, and the ranger smiled as he gave the horse a quick pat on the nose. "I'm glad you're in a good mood, Silver."

Tonto suddenly realized what he intended to do, and he wasn't sure that it was a very good idea. "Kemosabe..."

"I know, Tonto," he answered. "But we'll be all right."

Tonto trusted his friend's judgement, but it still seemed too early. He watched as Kemosabe checked the little row of stitches. Tonto had made up a batch of salve, the same as he had used on the ranger, and Kemosabe had been very generous with it. He'd kept the wound constantly slathered, and the horse had healed remarkably quickly. The ranger had tended to his shoulder by himself since they'd left the cave, but Tonto knew it still bothered him. Neither man nor horse were yet at full strength.

The ranger was clearly determined, however, so Tonto just sighed and pulled Silver's head around to face him. He stroked his muzzle, then covered both his eyes with his hands. Kemosabe fit a foot into the stirrup and took hold of the pommel of the saddle. "Well," he said and hauled himself up, "here goes."

Silver let out an enormous snort of surprise and jerked his head out of Tonto's hands. Tonto stepped back quickly, keeping both arms loose at his side, and anxiously watched as Silver gave a convulsive kick of his hind legs and bucked. The ranger kept the makeshift reins of the hackamore pulled down so that Silver could not get his head very high, and the horse instead turned in a tight circle, all the while making half-aborted bucking jumps. It was not that he truly wanted to throw the man, but it was a very powerful instinct.

After nearly a minute of this, Silver managed to wrench his head forward and broke into a run. Tonto chased after them for a few steps on impulse, but realized how pointless that was. He opened his mouth to call for Scout, but saw that Silver was slowing. Kemosabe had practiced working with the reins while on the ground, and the horse was calming down enough now to understand what was wanted of him. Silver was very, _very_ green, but also exceptionally intelligent and completely devoted to the rider. Tonto relaxed with a little sigh and watched as the ranger began with the excersises they'd been working on for the past two days, but from the saddle instead of the ground.

He supposed they would be at it for a while, so he returned to the camp. This afternoon would mark three full days that they had been here, but it seemed like much longer. If Kemosabe and Silver kept up the progress they were making, they would be leaving soon. Anticipation suddenly blossomed in his stomach, spreading til it seemed to consume all of him. They would be after Cavendish soon.

Tonto wanted to take advantage of the opportunity for fresh meals while he could. The stream held no fish, so Tonto returned to the woods to hunt their meals for the day and gather more of the plants for Silver. He did not stay long, and returned to camp as quickly as he could. He checked on Kemosabe and Silver, just in case something had gone wrong, but the two had moved to the grassy field and were still at work.

Kemosabe allowed himself and Silver a break near midday – though Tonto was certain it was more for the horse than the ranger – and returned to camp. Tonto noticed that the hackamore had been exchanged for the bridle. Silver wasn't very happy about it, and kept chewing at the hard metal in his mouth. Kemosabe rubbed his muzzle, and scratched behind his ears, talking to the horse as he walked.

The ranger spotted the pile of tall, grassy weeds and fed this to Silver first. He did not remove the bridle, and the horse kept shaking his head in annoyance as he tried to eat around it. He was rewarded with a sugar cube and many scratches before being set loose to graze and drink.

"We ride tomorrow," Kemosabe said by way of greeting as he sat on the log.

Tonto raised an eyebrow and handed him a plate of grilled rabbit. He would never have thought it possible to train a horse so quickly – though it could hardly be said that Silver was trained. Tonto was quite certain that the stallion would tolerate no man other than Kemosabe upon his back. This was a horse whose spirit was not broken, but who chose to serve out of love.

The ranger ate in silence, lost in thought, and gave Silver about an hour before returning to the field. Tonto watched for a little while, then decided to get as much ready for tomorrow as he could. He changed into his other outfit and washed every bit of laundry that was not currently being worn, including their blankets, and laid it all out in the hot sun to dry. He tended to all the little camp chores, not minding that what was generally considered women's work had been delegated to him for the past few days. In the course of travelling alone, he'd become quite used to doing everything himself and he was not able to help Kemosabe with Silver. That was something that horse and rider had to do together.

Around mid evening, Tonto began pulling the meat from the drying racks and took down the little tripods. He stacked the branches near the campfire, but kept the string. The meat and berries both could have used more time to dry, but it would be fine. Tonto used a rock to pound the meat into small chunks. Normally, he would just mix in the rendered fat to make plain pemmican... but today he glanced at the berries and herbs, shriveled up now from the sun, and decided to make this a much more potent batch. He laid the finished product out onto the mats in meal-sized bars to dry some more in the sun. A man could live off of this alone for a very long time.

Tonto pounded the dried tendons from the bison into individual strands of sinew and added them to their meager supply of medicinals, then ground up the herbs that had dried enough to be added as well. The rest he gathered up into little bundles to dry some more as they traveled.

The sun was setting by the time Kemosabe returned again. Tonto had tied the ends of all the string together to make four long strands, and used four square patches of the cut-up cloth to make crude sacks by threading the string through slits cut along one edge and pulling it tight. He was sitting by the campfire, cross-legged as was his preference, and was packing the last of half the pemmican bars into one of the sacks. The ranger looked around the camp as he settled the saddle at the head of his bedroll, and gave a nod of satisfaction.

"You've been busy," he commented as he fetched the bar of soap from the saddlebag.

Tonto pulled the string to close the sack and nodded as he tied it.

The ranger sighed and gave him a little smile. "I suppose you've been very bored the past few days," he said. "I appreciate your patience."

Tonto would not have described it as bored, but he supposed that was a good a word as any. Patience, on the other hand, was definitely the right word. He was anxious to go, even though he understood that Silver needed time. He wanted to catch Cavendish for Kemosabe's sake, and for the sake of the towns the man and his gang had been terrorizing, but he had resigned himself to a long hunt.

Tonto smiled and shrugged. "We go after Cavendish soon."

The ranger's smile faded into determination. "Very soon," he said, and gave Tonto's shoulder a reassuring pat as he headed towards the stream.

Tonto had dinner ready when he returned, and the two again ate in silence. Such quietness seemed very out of character for Kemosabe, from what Tonto recalled of their youth. Perhaps he had changed much in the many years since, but Tonto did not think so. Some instinct made him think that something was wrong. It was not good for his friend to be so quiet. He had been respecting the desire for solitude, but he was starting to think that perhaps this was not a good idea.

He watched as the ranger stretched out on the bedroll and laid his hat on the ground at his side. "Good night, Tonto."

"Good night, Kemosabe," Tonto replied automatically, though he had not made any move towards his own bed. He stayed up for a bit, watching the fire. He was too restless to sleep yet, but after a while he laid down anyway. His thoughts kept ranging back to that terrible, wonderful day that a passing stranger had found a burned camp. The memory was old enough that he could recall it without too much pain, and he thought about the things Kemosabe had done and said to help Tonto that went beyond merely bandaging his wounds. After a while, he thought he knew what he needed to do, and finally drifted off to sleep.

He woke suddenly several hours later, and blinked up at the stars. Tonto was usually a light sleeper, but the past week had seen many long days that proved to be taxing, both mentally and physically, and he'd slept very soundly. The past couple days had left him well rested, however, and he turned his head at the sound of another low mutter.

It wasn't the first time that he'd woken Tonto, and it would not be the last. Tonight, though, whatever dream had him in its grip did not let go, and seemed to be worsening. Tonto leaned over him and prodded his shoulder. "Kemosabe?"

His eyes flew open, but did not see. Tonto let out a startled gasp as he found himself hurled onto his back and pinned to the ground with an elbow across his throat. He flung up both arms, but the ranger was faster, larger, stronger, and suddenly the hard barrel of a gun was digging into his rib cage. "_Kemosabe!_"

The ranger froze, a look of horror spreading across his face. In all the years they would ride together, Tonto would always remember this as the one and only time he would ever see fear on this man's face. Not fear of the dream, not fear of an attack, but fear of what had almost just happened. Tonto was still trapped beneath the weight of his friend, but Kemosabe seemed completely unable to move. Tonto drew a short breath against the pressure on his neck, and managed to shift his arm enough to gently push the gun aside with the back of his hand.

The motion jolted Kemosabe out of his paralysis. He released Tonto, sitting back with his legs crossed. He angrily tossed the gun away, then ran both hands through the waves of his short, dark hair. There was such dejection and exhaustion in the simple gesture, in the slump of his shoulders. Tonto propped himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at him. Clues began to fall into place, and he silently berated himself for not seeing them.

Kemosabe did not move as Tonto sat up to kneel in front of him, hesitated, then brought a hand up to the ranger's face. He started to pull away as Tonto slipped his fingers under the edge of the mask, but then went absolutely still. Tonto slid the black cloth up and over his head, moving slowing in case he truly did not wish to allow it, but this was a liberty that Tonto alone would ever be granted.

Even by moonlight, the signs around his eyes were there clear as day without the mask to hide them. "Kemosabe," he said quietly. "You not sleep much."

Kemosabe looked away, making no effort to deny it.

Tonto laid a hand against his friend's chest above his heart. The pulse beneath his palm was nearly frantic, still terrified. Tonto spread his fingers and pressed a little until he looked back up at him. "Body heal plenty fast," Tonto said when clear blue eyes met warm brown. "Spirit sometime need longer." The ranger looked down, but Tonto knew his words had been felt.

Tonto sighed, because he also knew that his friend would not possibly sleep for what remained of the night. If they were to ride out tomorrow, it was important that he be rested. Tonto laid the mask beside the dark coals of the fire, aware of his friend's eyes on it, and then rekindled the flame. Kemosabe did not question him as they waited in silence for Tonto's little pot to come to a boil before he poured some of the water into a cup.

Tonto sprinkled a generous handful of herbs over it before holding it out to him. "You sleep."

Kemosabe accepted the cup, but only stared down into its steaming depths as it steeped without uttering a word.

Tonto lifted his chin and let out a short whistle. Scout appeared from the shadows beyond the fire, with Silver following behind in curiosity. Tonto reached up as the paint stopped beside him and lowered his head, and rubbed affectionately at the horse's ears. Silver nickered and shoved his nose against the ranger's shoulder, demanding similar treatment. "We keep watch, Kemosabe."

Kemosabe could not help a smile, and gave Silver's nose a pat. "All right... you win. I'm clearly out voted," he said and took a swallow of the tea. He grimaced at the taste, but drank all of it. The ranger was very strong, but Tonto had made certain that even he would not be able to resist the medicine and soon, within minutes, he was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Sleep, Kemosabe," Tonto urged, and helped him lie back against the saddle.

Kemosabe fought to keep awake just a moment longer, and wrapped a hand around Tonto's arm. "You're a good friend, Tonto," he said slowly. "I don't know what I would have done without you." His grip loosened, and Tonto lowered his arm gently to the ground. Kemosabe lay oblivious to the world, unmasked and unarmed, and Tonto felt a sudden wave of intense protectiveness as he pulled the blanket over him.

He could not imagine there was any danger in this peaceful, isolated valley, but he had given his word and would take absolutely no chances. He built up the fire, made some coffee, and waited with a gun in his hand for the sun to rise.


End file.
